Take the Pain Away
by DeathEaterInVegas
Summary: After the death of his godfather, Harry isn't sure what to do anymore. His life seems to be spiralling out of control. He's becoming colder, more distant, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. Can anybody help Harry before he does something that can't be undone? Dark themes, Self harm, Attempted suicide. Eventual supportive Snape. Depression. Not Slash! Themes of friendship.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this fic may be a little dark at first, but hopefully things will get better for Harry as time goes by. Rated just in case. Review if you have time. Some characters may be a tad OOC at times (mainly Snape). Graphic descriptions of self harm coming up (not too many in this chapter, at least compared to the rest *gulp*). Lots of angst.

Also, I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

It was the summer before his fifth year, and Harry was still coming to terms with a lot. Every night he would have nightmares of Cedric's death, horrible, horrible nightmares. Sirius had begged Dumbledore to let Harry stay with him for a few weeks, and Harry was surprised that the old wizard had let him stay at all.

But Harry couldn't face getting up. He couldn't face talking to anyone. He just wanted to be left alone.

He was lying in bed at Grimmauld Place, feeling suddenly aware that he had cut a little too deep.

It hurt, sure, but he didn't mind. It was comforting, almost letting him get away from reality for a few minutes. He felt free of all his trouble, like nothing was real apart from the pain.

He didn't even looked up when the door had creaked open, still too deep in his own fading daydreams.

"Harry?" a voice called, sounding slightly scared, apprehensive even.

He looked up, meeting the grey eyes of his godfather.

"S-sirius," he said, and tried to sit up, but that made him too dizzy. He fell back onto the bed with a groan.

Sirius rushed to his side, placing a hand over Harry's forehead. "Harry? What happened?"

"Don't call anyone," he pleaded. "Please, they can't know."

Sirius frowned. "Harry?" Sirius asked, his voice rising to nearly a shout. "Is that _blood_?"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

It took Sirius a good few moments to get his head around what Harry had said. But then he nodded, his eyes grim.

"Okay," he said, voice taught. "Let me have a look at what you've done."

Harry pulled down his sleeve, covering the cuts, and held his arm back from Sirius. There was no way he would let his godfather see the nasty scars that marred his skin. What would he think?

Sirius's expression softened. "It's okay," he said. "I'm not going to be angry."

"No," he insisted. "It's nothing. It's just a scratch. I promise."

"Harry," he warned. "Let me have a look."

Harry sighed, closed his eyes and rolled up his sleeve. Some of the cotton caught on the cuts, making him wince.

Sirius took hold of his arm, fingers gently prodding over the wound. Harry winced again, trying to hold down a whimper.

Sirius held Harry's arm still in one hand, and with the other hand he tapped the tip of his wand over the bloody wound.

Harry squeezed shut his eyes, only opening them again when the pain had stopped.

"There we go," said Sirius quietly. "All done now."

Harry nodded, pulling his arm back and cradling it by his chest.

There were a few moments of silence, and Harry couldn't meet his godfather's eyes. He knew what he would find if he did: disappointment. He didn't want to see that.

"What did you use?" asked Sirius, uncharacteristically stern.

It took him a couple of seconds to gather the will to speak. "I f-found a knife in one of the draws."

Sirius clenched his jaw. "Where did you put it?"

Harry shakily picked up the knife that he had dropped by his side and placed it in Sirius's outstretched hand.

Sirius looked down. "I'm getting you something to eat. I'll be back in a minute."

"No," said Harry, grabbing his godfather's sleeve. "Please don't go. Please."

Sirius frowned. "What do you ‒?"

"Please, Sirius," he said. "I'm . . . scared." He could feel the panic rising in his throat, ready to take over.

Then Sirius grabbed his godson in a tight hug. Harry held onto him, trying to hold back the tears. But then as a few managed to trickle out, the rest soon followed.

"Shh," he said. "Harry, don't cry. It's okay. It'll be okay."

Harry mumbled something, holding on tighter to his godfather.

"It's okay," he said again. "Don't cry, Harry."

* * *

That was almost a year ago, now.

Harry brought the blade across his skin for the first time since Sirius had died. The first cut he made was too shallow, barely drawing any blood. Harry tilted back his head, slicing the knife across his papery skin again. He let a hiss of pain whistle through his lips, and felt – for lack of a better word – free.

But then it came rushing back, in excruciating clarity.

_Sirius is dead._

Cut.

_It was my fault._

Cut.

_I killed my own godfather._

Cut.

He replayed the scene over and over in his head, tears pouring down his cheeks.

Sirius was dead.

Gone.

Forever.

With that, Harry pushed the blade in deeper again, almost screaming out at the white hot pain. It made him shudder, the sting that he had started to find comforting. The initial burn, the intense pain, and then the longer sharp throb that Harry sometimes felt days after if he cut deep enough. That was what Harry liked the most: a reminder. That's what that sting was, the constant nagging reminder of what Harry had done. It was his punishment.

Despite what Sirius had first thought when Harry confessed he had been self harming, Harry didn't want to die. No, he just wanted to hurt. That was why he never purposely cut anything major. He had even read up on veins and arteries, just to be sure he wasn't inadvertently killing himself. He didn't want to die.

Or at least, he hadn't wanted to die - then.

Even as the images became clearer and more terrifying as every day went past, he tried to keep calm. He could see it, sometimes. He could see himself hanging, or lying dead in his room, clutching an empty bottle of pills. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it as clear as day.

With a shuddering sigh, Harry looked up. He absently traced the blade up and down his arm. It would cause no scarring, but there was a strong enough tingle of pain to help Harry concentrate.

His tears still fell, though not as fast as they had moments ago.

He sat alone on his bed in Ron's house. Dumbledore had suggested that Harry stay with the Weasleys for a few weeks, at least until Harry was 'better'.

Ron and Hermione had assumed the headmaster had meant that Harry needed to be around his friends at such a difficult time. Harry knew why he really needed to have so much company.

_He thinks I'm going to try to kill myself._

_Maybe he's onto something there_, thought Harry, with more venom and anger than he had meant. The head master was only trying to help.

There was a light tap on the door, awakening Harry from his inner ramblings. The voice was tentative. "Harry, can I come in?"

It was Hermione. Harry was glad Ron hadn't come to see him; Ron was a little less sensitive than Hermione on times.

"S-sure," said Harry, trying to slow his breaths. He hid the knife under his pillow and rolled down his sleeves, covering the jagged scars.

The door creaked open, and in walked Hermione with a sad smile on her face. Her expression quickly changed from that of empathetic grief to something that made Harry rather anxious. He pulled the sleeves further over his wrists; just to be sure she couldn't spot anything.

"Harry?" she asked timidly. "Are you okay?"

Then Harry realised he was still crying.

He wiped the tears fiercely with his sleeve, trying to nod but failing miserably. Instead, as she hugged him tight, he let the tears flow.

"Shh," she cooed. "It's okay."

Harry shook with his tears; a lifetime's worth of them. He didn't like crying, especially in front of people like Hermione. "N-no it's not . . . 'mione, it's n-not o-okay. He's. . . h-he's dead."

"I know," she soothed, "I know, Harry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Harry pushed her away. "You don't understand, Hermione."

She gulped. "I can't imagine how you're feeling right now, but I want to be here for you, Harry. You're my best friend, and I want you to get through this. You need somebody to talk to about what's been going on. You can't just keep it locked up inside you. I want to be here for you, and if you want to talk to me about anything, _anything_, you can."

"No," he said darkly. "You really don't want to be here for me right now. And you really don't want to hear what I have to say."

"Harry," she said. "Don't be absurd ‒"

"You don't understand," he said, voice monotonous. "You can't be here for me."

She frowned at him. "Harry, what are you ‒?"

He stared straight up at her. "Go away. Leave me alone. I want . . . I want to be alone for a while."

"But Harry," she said softly. "Mrs. Weasley said that dinner's ‒"

"I said LEAVE ME ALONE," he yelled. "Don't you understand that I just want to be alone for a while? All you ever do is intrude on other people's business. Please, Hermione, just go away. I don't want you in here."

She obviously tried to cover up her hurt expression, but Harry saw it. She nodded, and left in silence, closing the door after her.

He waited a few minutes before doing anything again, making sure that Hermione was definitely gone.

He grabbed the knife from under his pillow and stabbed it into his arm, near his elbow, almost screaming at the pain. That's what he deserved for snapping at Hermione. She was only trying to help him.

Blood trickled down his arm to his wrist, and Harry dragged the knife down his arm. More and more blood pooled from the deep cut he had made, dripping down onto the bed sheets.

Harry couldn't even feel the pain anymore.

There was a knock at the door. "Harry?" It was Remus.

He pulled the knife down his arm until he reached his wrist. The cut was deep, and blood was rushing out a little too fast.

_No_, thought Harry, _not too fast._ This time, it wasn't fast enough.

He felt a little dizzy, so decided to lie back down onto the bed.

The door slowly opened and there was Remus. He stopped for a second before he entered, frowning with a tilt of his head, but then he sighed and stepped into the room. He hadn't yet spotted Harry's cuts, and Harry wanted to keep it that way, so pulled his sleeve down harshly.

"Harry," he said sadly. "You can't keep avoiding us. Dinner's ready, and everyone wants to see you."

"What if I don't want to see them?" snapped Harry. "I know what they all think, Remus. I know."

He frowned. "What on earth are you talking about?"

He looked up, eyes blazing. "You know what the fuck I'm talking about. And I know you think it, too. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me. Do you want to know what the worst thing is?" Harry said. "The worst thing is that it's _true_. _It's all true_. I . . . I just can't live with myself. I can't live with myself knowing that it's my fault."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Remus asked, eyes wide and full of what Harry suspected were tears. Then suddenly, realisation dawned. "Oh Merlin, no Harry. We don't think it's your fault. _Nobody_ does, in fact."

Harry smirked. "You're an awfully good liar, Remus. For a second there I almost believed you."

"No, Harry, you can't think it's your fault. It's not, it's not at all."

Harry shook his head. "Look, please could you just leave me alone. I don't want to have any food. I feel too sick. Tell everyone I'm sorry."

"But Harry ‒"

"Just GO!" he screamed. Then his voice became desperate. "Go. Please, Remus. Please."

Remus nodded, face almost expressionless. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then shook his head grimly and left.

Harry had hurt yet another person he loved. Brilliant.

* * *

A/N: "Tell everyone I'm sorry"? ... oh deary.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the helpful reviews, follows and favourites! It really made my day when I got them. Someone mentioned the fact that Remus should have smelled Harry's blood - and he did, but just didn't know how to react. Warning: graphic descriptions of self harm. Beware.  
Again, I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

"_Wake,_  
_from your sleep,_  
_The drying of your tears,_  
_Today we escape,_"  
Radiohead - Exit Music

* * *

Remus plodded down the stairs, feeling as if he had failed spectacularly. Harry seemed much worse today and still blamed himself for what had happened. Remus had no idea what he could do to even try to help him. The poor boy was just getting worse and worse as the days went on. It was breaking his heart to watch it unfold, knowing he had no idea how to help.

He thought he had smelled blood, but had hoped that maybe his mind was deceiving him. He hoped that perhaps he was worrying too much, that he was being over-sensitive But something - he had no idea what - told him that he was right to worry. What if it was Harry's blood? What did that even mean? That Harry was hurting himself? That he was, what, cutting himself? Remus gulped, feeling tears prick his eyes again. Why hadn't he said something?

He traced his mind back over the conversation, and he stopped dead in his tracks. In context, it was harmless enough. 'Tell them I'm sorry' he had said. Remus started walking again, feeling his heart sink slowly into his stomach. He was scared, terrified of what his cub could do to himself given the motivation, the desire.

He walked into the kitchen, and all faces looked up at him expectantly.

"Is he going to -?" started Ron.

"He says he feels sick, and that he's sorry for not coming down," said Remus quietly, attempting to rush without making a scene. He glanced at Molly, trying to keep his expression blank. "C-Can I have a word with you for a minute?"

The witch nodded, though looked confused. "Of course. Everyone start eating. We won't be long."

Molly led Remus up the stairs, and into a slightly cluttered, unfamiliar bedroom. She shut the door behind them.

"Molly I'm scared," he said quickly.

She turned around, frowning. "What are you -?"

"He's getting worse, Molly. I know he is. I smelled blood, too. I don't know what to do. He still blames himself and I think he thinks we do too. I don't know what to do anymore. Please, you've got to help me. You've got to. Molly."

Molly blinked a few times. "Wh-what? I'm sorry, Remus, could you say that again for me."

He bit his lip, and then spoke again. "He still blames himself for what happened Sirius. He told me. . . he told me that he can't live with himself. A-And he said . . . I . . ."

Molly brushed some of the hair back from her face. Remus noticed how differently she'd been acting recently. It wasn't the most noticeable thing at first, but now it was clear that she wasn't coping with this too well.

Molly blinked a couple of times, her eyes sparkling with tears. "I didn't think he actually believed it was . . . I mean, nobody thinks it's his fault, nobody. How could he even ‒?"

"I know, I know," said Remus. "I just. . . I tried to tell him, Molly. I tried. He just doesn't seem to listen. He doesn't even _want_ to listen. I don't know what to do. I'm so worried about him, but . . . but I don't know how to help. He told me to tell everyone he was sorry. I thought he meant . . . I thought . . ."

Molly's top lip trembled slightly, but she still managed to put on a strong face. "I . . . Maybe he's . . . Remus, what if he's not okay? What if he's . . .?"

Remus closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, he's not okay. That's the thing. I know he's _not_ okay. I smelled it. The . . . the b-blood."

She paled. "Merlin, you don't think he's . . . He can't be . . . Oh Remus, the poor boy. The poor, poor boy."

Remus nodded absently, mind running over the possibilities. "Molly, you don't think that . . . I mean, he wouldn't do something like that, would he?"

She looked away for a second, eyes sparkling with tears. "I don't know. I just don't know."

Remus ran his hand through his hair. "I'll check up on him again. Maybe . . . maybe I was just imagining things. Do you . . . Would you mind coming with me? I think Harry would like to see you."

Molly nodded. "Maybe we can persuade him to come down for something to eat."

He followed her up the stairs. They were both feeling the same desperate feeling. Fear. And they both knew, deep down, exactly what was happening. Their steady footsteps quickly turned into a run, and Remus finally felt the panic set in.

* * *

He tried to feel sorry for what he'd done. He wanted to regret it, wanted to feel like a failure. But he was numb. Completely numb. He sat on tiled floor of the bathroom, curled into himself, trying to feel something. Anything.

Harry stared at the scars that riddled his arms. Before, he would have counted them, trying to remember their meaning; one for every time he thought of Cedric, another one for when he thought of his parents, one for every time he was called 'freak'. There were too many to count now.

He had locked the door, and was holding the knife in his shaking hands. He stretched out his still bloody arm, and stabbed down into his flesh. He pushed down hard, as hard as he could manage, hoping to wedge the knife into the crook of his elbow.

He let out a loud sob, and dragged the knife harshly down his skin again. He tried to convince himself that he hated the pain, but the perverse truth was that he enjoyed it. He knew it was sick, wrong, to like something like this, but he liked it was the familiar burn, but it wasn't enough now. It would never be enough to make him feel truly better.

Harry pushed the knife in deeper, still not feeling enough pain to truly satisfy himself. Then he hit something, a nerve probably. He screamed, reflexively pulling the knife out of his arm.

"Fuck," he shouted, trying to stem the steady stream of blood. "Bloody hell." His voice cracked, and he sounded desperate, as if pleading with himself to stop.

He let the knife clatter to the tiled floor.

Then he heard a distant call. "Harry?" It was Mrs. Weasley. Footsteps approached the bathroom.

The doorknob rattled. "Harry?" This time it was Remus. He sounded worried.

He grabbed a towel, mopping up the blood on the tiled floor frantically. There was still blood everywhere, but Harry thought it'd have to do for now. He then wrapped the towel around his arm, shocked yet somehow proud at how quickly red began to seep through the material.

"Harry?" asked Mrs. Weasley, worry clear in her voice.

"I-I'm fine," he said hoarsely, hoping that maybe they'd give up and leave him alone. But he knew that was just wishful thinking.

"Let us in, Harry."

There was silence, and then he burst into tears, wondering why he had chosen this time to start crying again. The doorknob rattled furiously. "Harry?"

"Alohomora," someone whispered, and Harry heard the door click.

Harry tried to block the door, but his energy was quickly draining. He held it for a couple of seconds before he couldn't anymore, and rolled unceremoniously out of the way so he lay on his back.

The faces that met him were those of Remus and Mrs. Weasley, an unlikely couple. But at least there was nobody else. He would have hated anyone else to see him like this. This was bad enough, though.

Harry blinked up at them, an ill-timed smile twitching at his lips. "What're you . . . doing . . . here?"

Mrs. Weasley, let out a choking sob, putting her hand to her mouth. Remus just stared, eyes glazed slightly.

Harry closed his eyes, letting his head loll back slightly. "Don't worry. . . 'm okay. 't's jus' a scratch."

Remus bent down to him, checking his pulse. He held his hand to Harry's neck for a good thirty seconds. Then he turned back to Mrs. Weasley. "Molly, get Severus. He's lost a lot of blood, and his pulse is starting to slow. Tell him what happened. Tell him it's urgent."

"I - I -"

"Molly," he said, voice on the verge of tears. "Go. Now."

"D-do you want me to tell him _exactly_ what happened?" she asked quietly. "I mean . . ."

"Yes."

Harry didn't want Snape to be here, didn't want him to see him so _weak, _so helpless. He tried to protest, but all that left his lips was a half-hearted whimper.

"Shh," said Remus, placing his arms around Harry, trying to lift him up. He did so easily. Harry felt like a rag doll in Remus's arms, his body limp, almost lifeless. Harry wanted him to leave, to let him die in peace. He didn't want this. He could feel Remus shaking with what he presumed were tears.

Remus carried Harry out of the bathroom and into a bedroom. It was the room Hermione was sharing with Ginny, Harry realised. Remus placed him gently onto the bed closest. The sheets were cool, soothing his fiery skin. His head rested back on the pillow, and he slowly closed his eyes. This was the peace he wanted. Now he just had to block everything else out and focus on the pain.

"Harry?" asked Remus, panicked. "Harry, don't close your eyes now. Come on."

But he couldn't open them, and more importantly, didn't _want_ to open them. He wanted to end it like this. He wanted to end it now. It wasn't worth suffering anymore.

"Harry?" asked Remus again, shaking his shoulders gently. "Merlin. Come on. Wake up. Wake up. Please, Harry. Please, you can't do this."

Absently, he heard footsteps. "Lupin, where's ‒ right. Okay, get out of the way for a moment. . . . Potter? Potter can you hear me?" The voice was that of Severus Snape. Harry couldn't respond. "Potter!" he voice practically screamed. "Molly, get Albus. Quickly. He's lost so much blood already. . ." Then Harry could hardly make out what was being said as he slowly drifted off into unconsciousness.

This would be the last time he would disappoint them. He was sure of it.

Maybe a smile made it's way to his lips, maybe it didn't. All Harry Potter knew was that he finally felt contented. As much as this would hurt his friends, he knew in the long run they'd secretly thank him. He would no longer be a burden. He would be the cause of no more deaths.

* * *

A/N: I hope this didn't seem too rushed, but I wanted this out of the way, so to speak. Also, song lyrics? Too cheesy?  
Also, if I've made any mistakes (which I most definitely have), or there's something that doesn't flow, please point it out. I'm not good at noticing these things ^.^


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you so much for all of the support, especially the reviews! You guys have no idea how happy you make me:)  
I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Snape sat half asleep at the Weasley's kitchen table, trying to pretend to read the newspaper so nobody would disturb him. Not many - if any - people were up at this time apart from Molly Weasley. But Snape still didn't particularly want to be disturbed. However, even pretending to read was almost impossible in his state.

Two emotions occupied his mind:worry, and fear. The two emotions he never thought he would feel so deeply towards the Potter boy.

Everybody seemed to be worked up, even the people who didn't know what had actually transpired. Molly, Remus and Arthur had kept it vague, telling the others that Harry was 'just a little tired' or 'feeling unwell'. Those who knew what had really happened were understandably confused. Snape had heard the question '_why?_' too many times. Yet it seemed a valid point. Why would the boy-who-lived, Harry Potter, the boy who had it all, want to _kill himself_?

Snape felt slightly uncomfortable at those words. _Kill himself?_ Was that really what he was trying to do? Snape hoped that maybe they had it wrong. Maybe the boy had just done that by accident, maybe he had wanted attention. _Attention?_ He scoffed to himself. Wishful thinking. Extreme wishful thinking. Maybe once he could have believed that, but not now. Not after everything that had happened.

Remus had mumbled something about Sirius, but Snape had a hard time believing that was the only reason, especially considering the old scars they had found on Harry's arms when they had cleaned off the blood.

His mind turned back to the night when it all happened - only what, two days ago? The boy was unconscious when he had arrived, and with his eyes closed and glasses on, he could have almost been James Potter. But he was not. That was the first thing that struck Snape when he had seen the boy. He was not his father. Not at all.

The blood. He remembered that. It was everywhere, covering both Potter and Lupin. He hadn't seen that much blood in a long time.

He had tried his best to stop the flow, to replenish Harry's blood before he bled dry, but the cuts were so deep that he almost thought he had lost the boy. Snape was not an amazing healer, but he was all they had. He had tried.

And what if Potter didn't make it? Snape couldn't think about that right now. All Albus had told him to do was to make sure Harry was physically well, that the scars had healed properly, that he had enough energy, and that there was no lasting physical damage. Albus had told him to leave everything else to Remus and Molly.

What did they know? Remus and Molly, what did they know about this kind of thing? Snape knew the answer: next to nothing. Sure, they were compassionate, loving, warm. But was that what Potter really needed? Snape didn't know the answer to that one.

* * *

Harry awoke with the startling realisation that he was still alive.

He blinked open his eyes, the room still fuzzy and dark. He stretched out his arm, trying to reach out for his glasses. He winced at the pain, but fumbled around on the side table until he found them. It took a good couple of seconds for his eyesight to adjust.

There was enough light to make out the figure by his side, sitting on a chair next to his bed. Harry squinted, realising with a start that it was Remus, who was fast asleep - and snoring.

Harry looked down at his arms. He was wearing red pyjamas, but when he rolled up the long sleeves he could see the bandages. He grimaced, rolling the sleeves back down again. What on earth had he gotten himself into? There was no going back now. It would never go back to normal again, and he knew it.

It looked as if it was dawn; the sky was that early morning blue before the sun rose. The room was eerily quiet, and almost completely void of any distinguishing features. But Harry recognised it as Ginny's room - although most of the things had been moved out.

Harry wondered whether he should wake Remus up, but quickly decided against it. He looked exhausted, even when sleeping. Light snores occasionally escaped him, but other than that he was quiet.

With a groan of pain Harry sat up. The world swayed, his surroundings started to fade to black, and he felt ready to collapse back on the bed. But after a couple of seconds of deep, steady breathing he felt a little more stable.

The door creaked open, letting a stream of yellow light into the room. Mrs. Weasley poked her head around, and almost jumped when her eyes met Harry.

"Harry, love," she whispered, a smile consuming her features. "You're up."

Harry nodded. "Y-yes. I am." He hardly believed his words. He was alive. How on earth was he still alive?

She practically ran over to him, wrapping her arms around his body in a tight, smothering hug. "Oh thank Merlin you're awake, Harry. We've all been so worried."

She stepped back, a sad smile on her face. She took a moment to look at Remus, and then turned back to Harry. "Have you spoken to him yet?"

Harry shook his head. He could feel a knot forming in his stomach. He didn't want to talk to Remus. He didn't want to talk to anybody.

But Mrs. Weasley was already waking him. "Remus," she said softly, shaking his shoulder. "Harry's awake."

He groaned sleepily. "Wha' d'you say?" he asked.

Molly hit him lightly on the shoulder. "Harry's awake, and -" she leaned over to turn on the bedside table light "- he wants to see you."

Remus sat up straight in his seat, and his head turned quickly to Harry. He attempted a smile, although Harry could tell it was forced.

Mrs. Weasly hurried towards the door. "I'll get Professor Snape for you in a minute."

_Snape?_ thought Harry. _No, not him. Anyone but him. _Couldn't he just have a couple of hours to himself?

"Hey," said Remus, blinking away the last remnants of his sleep. "How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugged, looking away. He couldn't look Remus in the eye. Not after this. "Fine. I'm fine."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"Harry," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

He could feel tears forming in his eyes, but tried to stay strong. "There's no need to be sorry. It's not your fault. There's no need to be sorry. It's _my_ fau‒"

"_No_," he said harshly. "No, no, no. Harry it's not your fault. I should have been there for you. I should have made sure you were coping. I should have tried to ‒"

"It's not your fault, alright?" snapped Harry. "It's not. You couldn't have stopped it."

Remus looked shocked, but was obviously trying to hold back his emotions. He sighed. "We love you, Harry. We all do. So please. . . please, don't -" He closed his eyes for a moment before looking back up at Harry. "We can talk about this later. For now you need to recover."

Harry nodded; a twitch of his neck. Remus seemed to be satisfied.

"Hermione and Ron want to see you," he said.

"Do they kn‒?"

"No, they don't know," said Remus quickly. "Only Molly, Arthur, Albus and Severus. That's all. You can tell them if you want to, but don't feel like you have to right this minute. It can wait."

Harry bit his lip. "What did _you_ tell them? About . . . what happened."

Remus cocked his head to one side, a hint of a smile on his lips. "We told them that it wasn't any of their business."

Harry smiled lightly, trying to be positive, trying to assure Remus he was okay. "I can't imagine they were very happy with that."

Remus chuckled. "No, they were furious. There was even a reappearance of the extendable ears."

Harry smiled, but his joy was not long-lived. It quickly disappeared, and Harry tried to keep the smile on his face. But he couldn't, and his smile fell. Tears pricked at his eyes. So pathetic.

"Harry?" asked Remus. "You okay?"

Harry felt the tears start to fall, and he quickly wiped them away. "I've failed them. Remus, if they find out they're going to hate me. They're going to think I'm weak. I can't tell them. I can't. I can't."

Remus gulped, placing an unsteady hand on Harry's shoulder.

Then there was a light knock on the door.

Remus stood up. "It must be Severus."

He opened the door, revealing the last man Harry felt like seeing.

"Potter," he said, voice a monotone, void of any emotion. "You're awake."

* * *

A/N: I had some trouble with this chapter so I'm sorry it's a bit unstructured and kind of short. It's a bit of a filler so sorry about that too! The next chapter will have A LOT more in it.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Snape is a bit of an idiot in this chapter (as is Harry, actually). Thanks for the reviews, follows and favs!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

* * *

Last chapter:

_Remus stood up. "It must be Severus."_

_He opened the door, revealing the last man Harry felt like seeing._

_"Potter," he said, voice a monotone, void of any emotion. "You're awake."_

* * *

"Has Lupin already told you?" asked Snape, breaking the silence that had lasted almost five minutes now.

Harry stared at him, confused. "Told me what, sir?"

Snape shrugged, an unusual gesture for him. "Nothing, Potter. I'm sure he will tell you later."

It was silent again, the awkward kind of silence that wouldn't lift no matter how hard either of them tried. Harry sat on the bed, his left arm stretched out whilst Snape inspected the various scars that marred his skin. They had stopped bleeding long ago, but still stung and twinged if Harry moved his arm too quickly. Or if anyone touched them.

Snape ran his finger down Harry's arm, eyes narrowed in concentration. Harry tried not to wince, but couldn't stop himself from reacting to the sharp pain that darted down from his elbow.

Snape looked up, and Harry spotted the concern that flashed in his eyes. "Potter. Does that still hurt?"

"Yes sir," he said. "A little."

There were a few seconds of silence as Snape studied the scars again, his dark eyes betraying nothing.

"Potter," Snape started. "I . . . We . . . We all think it would be best if . . ."

"If what, sir?" asked Harry timidly. He was curious.

He shook his head. "Never mind."

It went back to silence again.

It was too quiet, Harry thought. He was so used to the noise at the Burrow, and without that constant buzz, the whole house felt empty. Remus and Mrs. Weasley had gone to sleep, and Harry hadn't blamed them. He felt guilty for keeping them awake and worried for so long.

"What's the time, sir?"

"Almost 5," he said, eyes still focused on Harry's arm. Then he looked up, and sighed. "It was foolish of you, Potter, what you did. You almost lost your life."

Harry nodded slowly, an uncomfortable feeling churning in his stomach. He knew what was coming next. "Yes, sir. I know."

"Was this result intentional?" he asked slowly.

Harry shrugged, not trusting himself to lie outright. "What do you mean, sir?"

"You know full well what I mean, boy."

Harry shrugged again. "I'm not sure, sir."

Snape sighed. "It's simple enough, is it not? Now tell me: did you intend to kill yourself when you picked up that dagger? Or was this just . . .an _accident_?" He looked disgusted, his mouth twisting into a grimace.

Harry gulped, trying to come up with some kind of response. He could feel his face reddening and eyes starting to water. "I - I - I -"

"Just spit it out, Potter," he said. "Yes or no, did you intend to kill yourself?"

Harry spluttered again. "N-no! Well, yes - wait, no. No, I - I didn't. Not at . . . not at the time. I didn't intend to at first. I didn't."

"Hmm." Snape took a moment before speaking again. "And why, Potter, did you _finally_ decide you wanted to-" Snape gulped. "-_kill_ yourself? Lupin was talking about Black, but I would like you to tell me yourself why you did it."

Who the heck did he think he was? And why did he think Harry was going to tell him _that_? This didn't really seem like the time to be asking these kind of questions.

Harry didn't answer. But despite his best efforts, his face probably betrayed most of his emotions.

"Potter," growled Snape. "This is important. It will help when we discuss your . . . _treatment_."

Harry glared at him, feeling his anger rise. "It's none of your business, sir," he said curtly.

He raised an eyebrow."Legilimens."

_No, no, no, not this. Not this. Anything but -_

* * *

Memories flashed through his mind.

Cedric's body. His mother screaming. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –" Sirius falling through the veil, his expression a mixture of fear and surprise. And Harry couldn't stop it, couldn't do a thing.

Then there were the things he saw in his nightmares. All of his friends, dead, lying on the floor, blood pooling around their bodies. Ron's lifeless eyes staring straight up, Hermione lying next to him. Remus, his clothes soaked in blood. Neville. Luna. Tonks. Moody. The Weasleys. Dumbledore. McGonagall. And so many more bodies it made him feel sick.

Dead. All of them.

* * *

Harry pushed Snape out of his mind with as much force as he could muster. Then he fell back onto the bed, breathless. His vision was starting to blur and his head felt too light. It was almost as if he had just encountered a dementor. All of those bad memories had come rushing back to him in a heartbeat.

"Potter?" asked Snape, concern lacing the single word. "Potter, look at me."

Harry slowly moved his eyes to meet Snape's. "Get out. L-leave me alone. You have no right... You have no right! It's p-private."

"Potter, you have to -"

"No," he said, feeling dizzy again. "No, no, no. Just leave me alone. I don't want to see that again. I... I don't... umm... sir?" he asked uncertainly, his vision starting to fade again.

Snape frowned. "I should have given you something for your energy first," he muttered before standing and making way for the door. He looked back. "Stay here, Potter. I will be back in a minute."

The door shut, and Harry's anger returned.

That idiot. Why? Why would he do that? Why would he make Harry relive the worst memories he had?

He pulled at his hair in frustration, trying to erase that horrible image from his mind. _My friends. All dead. Because of me._

He felt the tears well up in his eyes, and then embraced the sobs that shook his body. He felt like screaming, like letting his agony take over again. He scratched absent-mindedly at his scars, glad the pain was distracting him for a moment. He could feel the blood start to drip down again, although the wounds had practically healed, and there wasn't as much pain as Harry had hoped for.

He looked up, scanning the room for anything he could use to help intensify it. He needed it. He needed a distraction.

His wand sat on the table next to him. Too easy. Way too easy. Why would they leave that there for him? Were they really that _naive_?

He grabbed it, holding it in shaking hands. What spell could he use? The cruciatus curse? He had failed to use it properly on Bellatrix, the death eater who had killed his godfather. Did that mean he could not do it at all?

It took him a moment to figure out exactly wanted to do. Conflicting thoughts ran through his mind. He wanted to hurt, to get what he deserved and then forget it all for a couple of minutes. Yet at the same time he didn't want that at all, he wanted to be permanently free of this feeling, wanted to be able to accept what had happened and move on naturally.

But he knew that he couldn't move on. Nothing worked. He tried so hard but he still couldn't escape his own guilt.

He pointed the wand at his chest and took a breath, not even tensing his muscles ready for the agony he so craved.

"C-Crucio."

There was pain, white hot pain, but it barely lasted a second. It was almost a relief to feel something so intense, so _pure_. It was pure agony, the purest most clear thing he had ever felt.

"Crucio," he said again, and this time the pain lasted for longer.

He screamed this time, the sound stopping the pain from continuing. He lay on the bed, sweat dripping down from his forehead. His breath was heavy, but his mind felt clearer.

He pointed the wand at his chest on last time. "Crucio."

This time the pain completely took over, and Harry felt himself thrash around in the bed. Agonized screams left his lips, and after only a couple of seconds the curse had stopped and Harry became aware of his surroundings again.

_What the hell am I doing?_ he thought, panic taking hold of his mind. He was so _stupid_.

He groaned. _Why the heck am I doing this now? Why?! _Snape would be back in a moment, and Harry was sure his screams had probably woken someone up.

There were a couple of seconds of complete silence, but then Harry heard the frantic footsteps running up the corridor towards his room.

The door burst open. "Potter," said Snape. "I heard a scream."

He just laid there, breathing heavily, wand clasped in his hands. This was not going to end well, and he knew it.

"What happened?" he asked.

Harry couldn't speak just yet, still trying to slow his breathing.

"Potter," he said, placing a cool hand on Harry's forehead. "What happened? Was it your arm again? Do you need something for the pain?"

With shaking hands, Harry passed the wand to Snape, who looked at it for a moment before realisation dawned on his face.

Snape snatched the wand, throwing it onto the side table. "_What spell_? What spell did you use?"

Harry looked up at him, and smiled lightly, suddenly finding his voice. "It's none of your business, sir."

Snape drew his own wand. "Do you want me to look into your mind again, Potter?"

Harry glared up at him, his anger resurfacing. Not again. He couldn't deal with that again. "It was the cruciatus curse," he said, voice taut.

Snape blinked a few times before practically screaming, "You _stupid, stupid_ boy! What on _earth_ were you thinking? I can't . . . I can't believe this!"

Harry was about to speak, but Snape looked at him in a way that made him keep his mouth closed.

"How many times?" he asked, seething. "How many times did you use it?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to form an answer.

Snape banged his hand down on the side table, eyes sparking with fury. "How. Many. Times?"

"Three," he said quickly, watching as the potion master's eyes darkened. "Three times, sir."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "I don't . . . I don't understand."

And why would he? Why would he understand? Why would _anybody_ understand?

"I know, sir," said Harry glumly. "Nobody does." And nobody ever would.

"But the cruciatus curse?" he asked. "The cruciatus curse?"

Harry looked away. "What about it?"

"You . . .three times. THREE TIMES?! Why on _earth_ would you do that to yourself three times?"

"It's none of your business."

"But that much pain? Surely, nobody would want that!"

Harry glared up at him. "Well I do, alright? _I_ do."

Snape ran a hand through his hair. "This was a mistake," he said.

"What?" he asked

Snape didn't answer fully. "I need you to talk to someone, Potter. _Anyone_. If you want to speak to the headmaster, Remus, Arthur or Molly then that is perfectly fine. It was wrong of me to assume you would want to open up so soon after . . ." Snape gave him a pointed look. "But if you are not willing to talk to them, then you _must_ talk to _me_."

Harry could never talk to them about it; even Snape knew that. Harry clenched his fists. It wasn't fair.

"I'm not 'opening up' to anybody," he said. "There's nobody here that needs to know any of this. Not Remus, not Mr or Mrs. Weasley, certainly not Professor Dumbledore."

"And what about me, Potter? Do I 'need to know'?"

Harry scowled. "No. You don't."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"You can't stay here," Snape said finally. "It's not safe for you. And it's not fair on those around you."

Harry looked up, feeling any last scrap of happiness drain from his heart. He could not go back. He _would_ _not_ go back. "Sir, no. Please, I can't go back to the Dursley's. _Please_. You can't do that to me, sir. Please. Anything but that. Anything. _Please_ sir, pl-"

"That was not what I was talking about, Potter," said Snape. "The headmaster thought that you could come and stay with me for a couple of weeks, at least until you are no longer a danger to yourself."

Harry blinked. He certainly wasn't expecting that. Was that worse or better than going back to the Dursley's? He didn't know. "That's what you were trying to tell me earlier?"

"You will stay with me in a flat in London," he continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "And you will stay there until you are better."

"No," he said simply. "There is no way I'm leaving this room. And besides, what about Remus? And Mrs. Weasley? What would they -?"

"They already know," he said rather glumly. "It was agreed a few hours before you woke up. Your bags are packed. Lupin and Molly will be up to see you before you go. One of them will come to see you each day, to make sure you are getting better."

Harry felt his heart sink slightly. "Why would they agree to that? Don't they understand _anything_? I want to be _with_ them, not _away_ from them . . . Don't I get a say in what happens?"

Snape smirked. "Mr. Potter, you have no say in this whatsoever."

_Jerk_, Harry felt like saying. But he didn't say anything, just sat there glaring.

"They didn't think they would be able to look after you properly," he explained.

"Oh, and _you_ would be able to do that, would you?" he said. "And besides, I don't need looking after!"

"Your actions so far have made it perfectly clear that you do, in fact, need looking after." He glared at Harry. "Neither of us are particularly happy with this arrangement, but we'll have to manage. I was hoping for a fairly quiet summer, but I suppose _that_ won't be happening now."

"No," said Harry, starting to accept his fate. "I suppose not."

* * *

A/N: So, next chapter: Harry moves in with Snape.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!

* * *

Mrs. Weasley and Remus had come to say goodbye before Harry left. They were both smiling, though Harry was sure he spotted tears in their eyes. Snape stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, looking rather impatient. No change there, then.

Remus pulled Harry into a suffocating hug, and Mrs. Weasley hugged him even harder than that once Remus let go.

"It won't be for long, cub," assured Remus. "I know you don't want to do this, Harry, but . . . I think it'll be for the best."

Harry looked away, biting down on his lip to stop himself from speaking. He didn't want to shout at them, didn't want to _beg_ them to let him stay. If that was what they wanted, then who was he to argue?

_They don't want me anymore. They don't want me. _

But Harry didn't blame them. He was an inconvenience, a danger. He knew it wasn't fair to ask them to look after him. It was just like the situation with his aunt and uncle.

_Nobody wants me._

And it was true. Snape was taking him away so he wouldn't be a burden on those around him. He had almost said those exact words himself. It wasn't fair for them to be blighted with Harry's problems. He had to deal with this himself now.

"Give it a few days, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "That's all we're asking."

Harry nodded, numbness spreading out from his heart. He didn't feel happy, didn't feel angry. He just felt completely empty.

Remus placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "We love you, kiddo. Remember that, okay?"

"I love you too," Harry replied, trying to put some real meaning behind the words, because he _did_ love them. He loved them too much, almost.

"Harry," he added softly. "Just give it a few days. Maybe this is what you need, a week away from it all. It'll give you some time to think about things. It's not long until school starts, anyway."

Harry looked away. For him, that confirmed it; they didn't want him around, so had just lumbered him with the person they liked least - who turned out to be Snape - for the rest of the holidays. Then, they wouldn't have to see him until the next break came around. Harry felt the numbness in his chest turn into a deep sadness that he tried desperately to shove away.

He much preferred not feeling anything at all on times.

"Right, Potter," said Snape dully. "Are you ready to go?"

Harry wanted to ask about his friends. Wasn't he allowed to see them before he left? But then again, why would they want to see him? He was just an inconvenience. Besides, he would be seeing them in school in a while.

"Yes sir," he said lifelessly. "I'm ready."

* * *

The flat was not at all what Harry had been expecting. As soon as he had stumbled out of the fireplace, he had been worried this wasn't where he was meant to be.

The room he was standing in was odd, to say the least. The walls were painted a ghastly shade of pastel green and there was no furniture apart from a single wooden chair in the centre of the room that faced the fireplace. It smelled horribly clean, as if someone had decided to throw bleach at everything.

Snape was already standing by the door, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Potter. Hurry up. No dawdling," he said, eyebrow raised. "And before you ask why this room is so empty, there _is_ a good reason. Now, come on. We can't stay in here for too long."

Harry followed Snape out of the room, and into a corridor. They were at the very end of it, staring down. There were 5 other doors; two on the left side, two on the right, and one at the very end of the corridor.

"Your room's at the end," he said. He pointed the last room on the right. "And that one is mine. But first let me tell you about the room we just came from."

Harry was about to speak, but Snape gave him a look.

"There are six rooms on this floor," said Snape. "You are only allowed in four of them. You are _not_ allowed in the room we were just in, and you are _not_ allowed in this room, here -" Snape pointed to the room next to his " - which has been charmed to hold anything dangerous in the house."

"So that's why there's only a chair in that other room?" asked Harry uncertainly. "Because all of the other furniture was _dangerous_?"

"I can't imagine a sofa to be dangerous to one's health," said Snape, eyebrow raised. "The charm is just a bit too strong in that room at the moment. If we stayed in there too long, we'd be banished to this room, too."

Harry almost felt like laughing at that. Almost. "So there's nothing. . . dangerous in any of the other rooms?"

"Nothing that you can use to harm yourself, as far as I know," specified Snape, voice emotionless. "With the exception of your wand, which I will be holding on to for the time being."

Harry couldn't argue with that, but felt his face heat up with embarrassment. He hoped Snape wouldn't bring up what happened. "Can I go to my room, sir?" he asked. "I'm still pretty tired." He just wanted to get away. He couldn't deal with this.

Snape tilted his head, considering it. "Yes, you need to rest."

Harry nodded. "Okay. I'll go lie down or something."

"I have set out some extra homework for you if you get bored. Lunch will be ready in two hours. If you need anything you can call me. Or if you want to talk about anything . . ."

"So this is your house, then...?" asked Harry, trying to change where this was going. He knew that neither he or Snape wanted to 'talk' about things.

Snape shook his head, seemingly lost in thought. "Not mine, exactly. . . Do you want me to show you around your room?" Snape seemed to want this to be over just as much as Harry did.

Harry shook his head and took off towards the door at the end of the corridor. "No. I'll be fine." He knew it would be hard to do anything with Snape keeping such a close eye on him, but he had a feeling he'd be able to get away with it. He'd find a way around it - he always had before.

But for now he would just deal with things slowly. One thing at a time.

* * *

Lunch was short and uneventful, as was dinner. The conversation at the dinner table had been tense at times and plain awkward at others.

Harry couldn't help but wonder what the point was in all of this. It was obvious that Snape wasn't particularly happy with the arrangement, and Harry didn't know what was meant to be happening. Was he supposed to be feeling grateful that Snape had taken him in? Were they supposed to be having deep talks about feelings or something ridiculous like that?

Neither of them really knew what to do, and that became more and more evident as the day grew old. After dinner, Snape had suggested that Harry should do some light reading until he was tired enough to sleep, and that was what he did.

They sat in the living room in almost complete silence, Harry half asleep on the armchair, pretending to read for the sake of appearances. He wanted to show he was making some kind of 'progress'.

But now his eyelids were starting to grow heavy, and he didn't want to accidently fall asleep. The thought of falling asleep in company made him cringe with embarrassment and fear.

"I think I'll be off to bed," said Harry as soon as he thought Snape wouldn't mind him leaving.

Snape nodded, not once looking up from his own book. "Good night, Potter. I hope you get a good night's rest."

Harry trudged his way off to his room, and sat down on his bed with a sigh. What was the point? What was the point in anything anymore? If his life had suddenly come down to awkward conversations at the dinner table with a man he hated, what was the point? When nobody wanted him, what did he have left to live for?

He was the bloody boy who lived. Maybe that was enough of a reason to keep on living. For now at least.

But parents had given their lives for him. Sirius had given his life for him. He didn't want to find out who else would be willing to do the same.

And with those last thoughts, Harry fell asleep.

* * *

Snape couldn't concentrate.

He couldn't stop thinking about Potter.

How on earth did Albus get it into his head that Snape would be the best person for this? Most of Albus's ideas were well thought out, logical, but this one was ridiculous. Sure, Snape had mentioned that Remus and Molly weren't exactly the best people to look after a suicidal teenager, but he hadn't expected Albus to come up with _this_ solution. It was absolutely ridiculous, and Snape wished he had spoken up about it before.

But he supposed he would just have to make the best of the situation and help Potter as best as he could.

Snape continued to read well into the night, worry nagging at him. The boy had seemed pretty angry about the whole situation before - rightly so, in Snape's opinion - but now he had gone back to being almost silent. He was too polite, showing no personality whatsoever. Nothing.

And Snape didn't know what to do. He had _some_ experience dealing with this sort of thing - he was a head of house, of course - but Harry seemed different, almost too far gone.

_Too far gone?_

He scoffed. Was he giving up on Potter already? He vowed he would never do that, for Lily's sake if nothing else. No, he would just have to try harder tomorrow to engage the boy in some kind of conversation.

Snape sighed, placing his book down on the side table. Yes, maybe things would be better tomorrow. Maybe then the boy would feel like opening up to him a little.

He stood up, stretched and made his way out into the corridor. Just as he was about to make his way into his bedroom he heard something. He tilted his head, trying to make out what the sound was. It was coming from Potter's room, and it sounded almost like the boy was crying.

Snape frowned, not knowing what to do. Was it right to go barging in a demand to be told what was wrong? Probably not, but that was what he finally decided on doing anyway. He swung open Potter's door, and stared for a couple of seconds at the sight that greeted him.

Harry was thrashing about on the bed, murmurs escaping his lips. Sweat was dripping down his brow and his skin looked deathly pale. He was asleep, and by the looks of it having nightmares.

"Potter," he whispered, placing a hand on the boys shoulder.

Harry flinched away from him, and his quiet screams became louder, almost shouts.

"Potter," said Snape again, shaking the boy lightly. "Potter, wake up."

Harry thrashed out again, flailing his arms around wildly. Snape had to step back to avoid getting hit.

"Harry," he shouted, shaking him harder.

Green eyes snapped open, wide and panicked. "No," he said drowsily. "You can't hurt them. Take me. Take me."

"Harry," Snape said softly. "It's me. It's okay. It was just a dream."

Harry sat up, scrambling away from Snape to the corner of the bed. His breathing was harsh and his eyes darted around the room as if looking for intruders. Snape extended his hand, about to place it on the boy's shoulder, but he was met with a fearful, pleading expression. The poor boy was shaking, his arms wrapped around himself for comfort.

"D-don't touch me," he whispered, voice on the verge of tears. "Don't. Please."

Snape sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. "You had a nightmare."

Harry didn't reply, still shaking.

"Potter?" he asked hesitantly.

Harry blinked back tears. "It's fine. I'm f-fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered lamely. Was that seriously the best he could come up with?

Harry shook his head quickly, taking a breath. "I'm fine. It was just a stupid dream. I'm s-sorry for disturbing you."

At this, Snape felt something stir in his chest. "You didn't disturb me."

"No, I'm sorry, sir. I was just dreaming."

Snape shook his head. "No need to be sorry, Potter, but I want you to tell me about these dreams of yours. How often have you been having them?"

Harry looked away, starting to look at least a little more comfortable now. His shaking had stopped, at least.

"It doesn't matter, sir," he said slowly.

Snape sighed. "Potter, it does matter. It matters a lot. If these dreams are bothering you then I can do something about it."

He looked up, green eyes holding some hope. "You can?"

Snape nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Were the dreams really that bad? "Yes, I can. Now, tell me, how long has this been going on for?"

He gulped. "It's . . .it's been going on for a while," he said vaguely. "They started after . . .C-Cedric. But they've gotten worse since . . ."

Snape tried not to show his emotions too visibly. "And what happens in these dreams?"

Harry took a moment to speak, obviously trying to find the right words. "It's normally the same type of thing," he said slowly. "All of them. D-dying. Voldemort. I . . . I try to save them. I beg with him to let them go, and he lets them free. But they won't leave."

"Who won't leave? Who are you trying to save?"

The boy's eyes darkened. "My f-friends. My family. Everyone."

Snape nodded, wondering exactly how he could deal with this. He wasn't used to being so. . . caring. "And why won't they leave?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip. "They want to . . . save me."

Snape took a moment to think about this, and he was suddenly reminded of the odd things he saw in Potter's mind. Were those his dreams? They must have been, because they sure as hell weren't memories. "What I saw in your mind? Is that what you dream about?"

Harry looked away. "Y-yes sir. Th-that's what I dream about." Tears rolled down his cheeks. "Every n-night. Every night I watch them die. A-and . . . and I-I . . ." His sobs became louder. "I don't w-want them to s-save me. I d-don't want that." He tried to wipe away the tears but they were falling too fast. "I d-don't want them to . . . to d-d- . . . to _die_ for me. I don't. I don't." He let out another loud, heart-wrenching sob.

Snape did the only thing he could think of: placing his hand on Harry's shoulder and pulling him into a hug. At first the boy flinched back from him, but then almost collapsed in Snape's arms. He was in near hysterics.

The boy sobbed on his shoulder for a few minutes whilst Snape attempted to comfort him by tapping him awkwardly on the back. It was an odd moment, for Snape at least. But it was the moment he when he realised what he had to do. He was going to be there for Harry, and he was going to get him out of this depressive cycle no matter what.

It was time to leave the classroom snobbery and hatred behind. It was time to look after Lily's son, the son that so easily could have been his.

He took in a deep breath, trying to get into the right frame of mind. This wasn't the time for sarcastic comments, snide remarks or purposely hurtful observations. He was going to be a caring, loving, understanding _adult_ about this.

Now was time for him to prove himself.

"Would you like some cocoa?" he asked hesitantly. "It might help you get back to sleep?"

Harry laughed, head still resting on the potion master's shoulder. It wasn't the reaction Snape was expecting, but a positive reaction nonetheless. He leant back from Snape, sobs slowly turning to hiccups.

"No thanks, sir," he said, smiling through his tears. "I'm okay."

Snape smiled back and tapped the boy awkwardly on the shoulder again. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard.

There were a couple of seconds of silence as Snape thought about the options he had in front of him now. He didn't want to suffocate the boy with his concerns, but he did want Harry to know that he cared about him.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he would do something about this.

Then he turned back to Harry. "Are you okay now? Do you think you can get to sleep?" he asked.

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah. But do you mind . . . Do you mind staying until I go to sleep? I mean, you don't have to. I know it's kind of stupid of me, but I just . . . I just . . ." His cheeks slowly turned red.

Snape almost felt like crying. Why? He had no idea.

"Of course I will, Potter," he said, trying to keep his face expressionless. "It's no problem. I wasn't particularly tired, anyway."

* * *

A/N: So, this didn't really turn out how I expected it to turn out. But oh well ^.^ At least Snape is trying harder to be nice now! Also, I'm sorry for any typos or weird sentences that make no sense. (I write those a lot.)

Thanks for all of the reviews, favs and follows! I love hearing what you guys think, and I like getting constructive criticism! So if there's anything you think is a bit too OOC or something you don't like (or something you'd like to see?), then tell me. Thanks!

Next chapter: the morning after Harry's nightmare and Snape's attempt at being nice. Expect awkwardness all round.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry had drifted off with Snape at his side, hoping that maybe the rest of the night would be peaceful for him, but after not even a couple of hours of sleep Harry woke again from another nightmare.

This time Sirius and Remus had both willingly walked out in front of the green light of the killing curse for him. And Harry had watched, helpless.

He sat up in his bed, heart pounding, trying not to cry out in fear. But he couldn't help the quiet whimper that escaped his lips.

_Just a dream. It's just a dream. Remus is still alive, even if Sirius isn't._

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself.

_Just a dream. Not real._

"Harry?" a voice said softly, sounding sleepy.

Harry jumped at the unexpected sound, and looked around the room. Without his glasses he could barely see, but he could quite clearly make out the form stretched out on a chair.

"Sir?" he asked, relieved. "Y-you're still here?"

Snape sat up straighter in the chair. "Must have fallen asleep," he said lightly. Then he cleared his throat. "You had another nightmare."

Harry nodded, feeling suddenly self-concious. "It wasn't as bad as before," he admitted. "Nowhere near as bad."

He reached out for his glasses on the side table.

"Do you want to talk about it again?" said Snape, sounding sleepy.

Harry shook his head, putting on his glasses. "It was pretty much the same thing as before."

Snape nodded, relaxing back into the chair again. "As long as you're sure you don't want to talk . . ." He yawned.

"What's the time, sir?" asked Harry, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible. This was too embarrassing.

Snape turned in his seat, looking across the room. "Almost ... four."

Harry groaned, collapsing back onto his bed. "Dammit. I guess I won't be getting much more sleep then."

Snape mumbled something incoherently.

"You can sleep, sir," he said. "Do you mind if I go read or something for a while?"

"Sure," Snape said, voice muffled by his drowsiness. "I'll . . .be up ... in a minute."

Harry smiled, stood up and made his way for the living room.

* * *

After almost 2 hours of reading, Harry was bored. Snape still wasn't up, and there wasn't that much to do.

He wanted to explore, wanted do do something that would distract him.

He wanted to silence the increasingly disturbing thoughts that were entering his mind. He tried to block out most of them, but without anything to do, without anything to keep his mind off things, the images and thoughts were becoming clearer, harder to resist.

Images of himself lying dead on the floor were starting to become oddly comforting. Thoughts telling him to cut, to hurt himself were starting to take over. They were starting to take control.

_Worthless._

_Freak._

Harry ran a hand through his hair. He _would not_ think like this. Not anymore.

_Freak._

Harry closed shut his eyes, trying to block out those thoughts. He had to keep himself distracted. But what was there to do? He didn't feel like reading. He supposed exploring sounded interesting, but that went completely against what Snape had told him when he first arrived here.

The two rooms that intrigued him most were completely out of bounds: the room with the fireplace, and the mysterious room that supposedly held everything 'harmful' in the house.

After a couple of minutes of deliberation, he decided that it wouldn't be that bad, _really_, if he just had a look in the rooms. What harm could that do?

He walked out into the corridor, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

The room at the very end of the corridor was the room with the fireplace, and the room on the left of that, the room next to Snape's, was the room where everything dangerous was supposedly banished.

Harry crept down the corridor, approaching the door. He tried the handle, and wasn't surprised that it was locked. Snape wasn't stupid. Harry now beelined for the other room, the room with the fireplace. He tried at the handle, shocked that the door was actually unlocked. He walked in, wondering what he had to do.

Snape had said that sometimes people could be banished to the dangerous room from here, and Harry wasn't one hundred percent sure whether he was joking or not.

_Only one way to find out_, Harry thought with gritted teeth.

He entered the room, slightly put off by its emptiness. Even in the near darkness Harry could tell that most of the horrible green paint had chipped off since he was in there last.

Was the charm really that strong?

Harry decided he would just have to find out, and sat down on the old wooden chair in the centre of the room. It creaked under his weight, but did no more than that.

After five minutes he was convinced that Snape had really just been joking. He had never really got the potion master's sense of humour, anyway.

He stood, but suddenly felt an odd tingling feeling in his cheeks. Then, without any warning, his glasses completely disappeared.

Harry smiled. Maybe this was going to work, after all.

He waited another couple of minutes. His socks had disappeared one by one, and Harry was starting to get scared that the rest of his clothes would follow in the same way.

But then the tingling in his cheeks spread down to the rest of his body, and in a blink of an eye he was suddenly not there anymore.

* * *

Snape sat up in the chair, looking around groggily for Harry. He wasn't there, but something in the back of Snape's mind told him that Harry was fine. That he had just gotten up to ... do something. He was still too tired to remember _exactly_ what that something was.

_Five more minutes to sleep. Then I'll look for him._

* * *

Harry blinked, realising with horror that this wasn't what he thought the room would look like. It looked almost blobby. His mind raced with the possibilities. Stuck between two dimensions? Lost in space and time? No, this was the room Snape was talking about. Despite not wearing his glasses, Harry could tell he was in a room - a room filled to the brim with stuff.

The first step was to find his glasses. The second step was to simply get out; Harry was starting to get a bad feeling about this. The room gave off an air of dark magic, and it made Harry apprehensive about looking through things.

The room was oddly lit - it looked like it was early dawn, but Harry couldn't see any windows in the room. He wished he had his wand right now, and was starting to feel vulnerable without it. He couldn't take more than two steps without bumping into something, and was starting to worry whether he would end up being stuck in here forever, especially considering the fact he didn't have much magic to his disposal.

Thankfully, after about five minutes of feeling around blindly - knocking a fair few breakable items to the floor in the process - Harry finally found some glasses. They definitely weren't _his _glasses, but they would have to do.

He put them on, blinking a few times. Everything came into focus, and had looked just like he had imagined before. There were mountains of furniture arranged like a maze. The furniture was then topped with various items; books, cutlery, mugs, clothes, and other unidentifiable things.

Harry sighed, wondering why he wanted to come in here in the first place. Some of these things looked interesting, but it would take him hours to look through everything and sort out the good stuff from the bad. He didn't have hours of time to spare.

He sighed again, deciding maybe he should just go. He didn't want to be caught in here by Snape.

He turned slowly, heart stopping at the man standing in front of him. He almost screamed.

Standing in the middle of the room, amidst the clutter, was the one person he thought he would never see again. He wasn't sure whether to feel happy, scared or confused.

"S-Sirius?" he asked.

Sirius smiled, eyes appearing to light up with happiness. "Harry," he said gruffly. "I've missed you so much."

_He's alive? Actually alive?_

Harry let himself hope this wasn't some kind of illusion, that this wasn't just a trick. Sirius was here, standing in front of him, _alive_.

"I-Is that you? Is that really you?"

Sirius' smile fell. "Harry, I'm sorry."

"Sirius?" he asked, feeling a sudden panic. "Sirius, what do you -?"

But then his godfather swayed on his feet, face paling.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said, and then he screamed, grabbing hold of his chest, finally falling to the floor in a heap, limbs twitching.

Harry stared for a couple of seconds, trying to process this. Then his eyes widened and he ran to his godfather's side.

"No," he said quietly, shaking Sirius' shoulder. "No. Sirius, no. Don't die. Not again. _Not again._"

Sirius stared up, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I'm doing this for you, Harry. I'm _dying_ for you."

Then his back arched in pain and blood began to drip from his mouth. He moaned, grabbing his chest and coughing more and more blood down his body.

Harry looked around the room frantically. "I'll get Snape. He can save you, he can -"

"_No_," said Sirius, his hand grabbing Harry's sleeve weakly. "No. It's okay. It's okay."

The fear. He had never felt anything so intense before. His heart raced uncontrollably in his chest.

Sirius would be taken from him, so soon after he came back. It wasn't fair. It was torture.

"No," he said desperately. "Please, Sirius. Please don't die. _Please_."

Harry felt the tears pouring down his cheeks. He looked up again, thinking for a moment what he could do. He would have to find Snape, that was the only way to save him.

However, when Harry next looked down Sirius was gone. He had completely disappeared. There wasn't even any blood on the floorboards.

"Sirius?" he called out, just about managing to stand up. His legs were shaking. "Sirius?!"

Then he heard footsteps, and looked up into the gentle eyes of -

"Professor Snape!" he called, tears shaking him. "Sir, Sirius was here. Sirius was here and I -"

Snape frowned. "Sirius? Alive?"

Harry nodded. "Sir, we have to -"

But then Snape's eyes widened. "Potter, watch out!"

Then there was a flash of green light out of nowhere and Snape fell limply to the ground, head hitting the floor with a sickening crack.

_Oh god. No. _

_No._

Harry scrambled over, trying to block out his thoughts. He felt desperately for a pulse, for a breath. _Anything._

"You're not dead," he said, trying to convince himself, fingers pressed to Snape's neck. But he couldn't feel a pulse. Couldn't feel a thing.

_I can't take this. I can't take this anymore._

He checked again and again for a pulse, for a breath.

He felt like he wanted to throw up, and bent down, ready to be sick. He threw up bile, his throat burning. He threw up again and again, tears running faster.

His shaking wouldn't stop, but he wiped his mouth and turned back to the dead body of Severus Snape.

"No, no, no. Please, no," he whispered, feeling a surge of sorrow, followed by intense anger. He banged his fist down on the floor. "Don't be dead."

Harry pinched at his own skin as hard as he could, trying to calm himself, trying not to panic, just trying to slow his own thoughts. He dug his nails into his arm until his arm bled, giving himself just enough time to calm down.

He looked over at Snape.

"No," he whispered, staring down. "Please don't be dead. Don't be dead. Don't be dead."

Then the door creaked open, but Harry didn't look up, didn't do anything apart from stare down at Snape's body.

"No," he said, shaking the potion master's shoulder again, starting to hyperventilate again. "No. Please wake up. Come on!"

But Snape just lay there, body weak and limp and completely lifeless.

Harry turned to the side just in time to avoid throwing up all over Snape. Then he collapsed to the floor, not wanting to ever get up.

"No..." he said, feeling panic completely take over. His breathing was getting faster, sobs becoming louder. His body was overcome with the shaking.

He looked up at the ceiling, letting a broken howl escape his lips.

"Harry," a voice said softly. He knew that voice. It was Snape.

He sat up, and his head snapped down to Snape's body, horrified to see instead a dead Ron Weasley.

"NO!" he screamed, scrambling back. "No, no, no. Ron."

Then arms were around him, turning him away from the body. "Riddikulus."

Harry sat there, completely in shock.

_It was a boggart. A boggart._

But just like his nightmares, he couldn't convince himself that what he saw wasn't real.

"No," he mumbled, tears still streaming down his face. "No. God, no."

The arms hugged him tightly, but Harry pushed away. He stared up at Snape, a very much _alive_ Snape.

Harry blinked, unbelieving. "Y-you're not dead," he said, voice raspy.

Snape's eyes softened. "Come on. Stand up. Let's get you out of here."

* * *

Harry was half carried out into the corridor, his feet dragging across the floor. He felt nauseous, ready to throw up again at a moment's notice. But he resisted it.

Snape lead him into the living room, where he was dropped onto the sofa. He was still shaking.

Snape bent down so he was eye level with him, placing a hand on his knee. "It was a boggart, Harry. Just a boggart."

Harry nodded weakly, trying to convince himself of that. "You're not dead. Ron's not dead."

Snape nodded reassuringly. "No, Harry. I'm here. I'm fine. Ron's fine."

"Sirius is dead," Harry said quietly, wrapping his arms around himself. "Sirius is still dead."

Snape looked away. "It was a boggart. Boggarts aren't real."

Harry looked up, desperation tugging at him. "You're alive?" He felt the constant need to confirm this.

Snape nodded, eyes soft. "Yes, Harry. I'm alive. It's okay. It was just a boggart. It's not real."

Harry felt closed shut his eyes, the images of a dead Snape, a dead Sirius, a dead Ron, making their way into his mind again.

Without any warning he promptly threw up all over the floor. He fell off the sofa onto his hands and knees on the floor, narrowly avoiding where Snape was kneeling.

Snape helped him sit back up again, and Harry collapsed in his arms, willing himself to pass out. But of course, he wouldn't pass out, not when it was convenient for him to do so. No, he just continued to throw up onto the floor, Snape holding him and rubbing circles on his back.

"Shh," he said. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay, Harry."

Harry puked again, making sure to avoid Snape's general direction.

Snape kept rubbing his back. "It's okay. They're alive."

The images wouldn't leave his mind and Harry didn't know what to do. He knew it wasn't real, but couldn't help but think that those things had the _potential_ to be real one day.

He whimpered pathetically, body shaking too much for him to have any control over it.

"It's okay, Harry. Shh, it's okay. Come on, you need some sleep. Let's get you back to bed, eh?"

He shook his head, trying to form a sentence. "It's ... it's okay. I'm okay."

_Lies._

_ I've got to do something about this. _

_I can't let them die for me._

* * *

A/N: So yeah... a boggart. I hope Harry's reaction was realistic enough.

Before this, I wrote a different version of this chapter, but my computer decided to delete it. I'm not happy with this chapter at all, but I didn't want to re-write it again because I'm lazy, and it'd probably take too long. Tell me what you think!

Thanks for all of the favs, follows, and the great reviews! I really like getting feedback!

Also, I don't own Harry Potter!

And from the next chapter, things will start to pick up a bit more.

... gah, I hate this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Harry felt sick, sick to the core. The boggart had left his mind even more unstable than before, and he was starting to get afraid of himself. Images of him dying were becoming clearer and clearer as the days went on, and somehow, Snape could tell when Harry was about to have one of his 'freak out' moments.

Now was one of the times where Harry was freaking out. He had been sitting at dinner with Snape, feeling like he'd made some kind of progress since the boggart incident, but was then suddenly overcome with a feeling of helplessness. He had stopped talking, and had just stared straight at Snape, who knew immediately what was happening.

So that was how Harry ended up in the living room, where he was now, curled up on the floor, trying to rid his mind of the terrifying images. Snape sat by him - as he always did - and that in itself was something that Harry held onto when things got tough. At least somebody cared about him. Somebody was willing to help him get through things.

The shaking had started to subside, and his thoughts had turned into an incoherent mush instead of the clear commands to kill himself. He looked up, confused at how the room was now almost pitch black. These episodes had never lasted more than two hours, at most, and when this one had started it had only been five o'clock.

"Harry?" Snape asked quietly. "Is it over?"

Harry nodded, not yet trusting his own voice.

"It's almost 1 AM. Would you like to go to bed now?"

_1 AM?_ he thought, dazed.

Harry shook his head fervently. There was no way he would be able to deal with the dreams now. He felt so weak, so worn out, so ready to give up. Any little thing would push him over the edge, and that was not something he wanted to happen right now.

"You could try the Dreamless Sleep potion again," Snape suggested lightly.

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. It doesn't work."

"Just try," he said. "Please, Harry. It isn't healthy, what you're doing."

Harry glared at the floor. "No. I can't see it again. Not again."

He hadn't slept properly in a long time. He had gotten ten minute naps here and there, but hadn't had a good night's sleep in almost two weeks now.

"Harry, please," he said, exasperated.

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes shut. "N-no. I can't. I can't."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, an action Harry was getting all too used to seeing.

"You _need_ to sleep."

Harry shrugged. "I'll be okay."

"Harry, you'll be going back to Hogwarts in a couple of days. You _need_ to _rest_."

"I'll be okay," he repeated, emotion drained from his voice. He knew that was a lie, but didn't care.

* * *

Harry finally realised he'd had enough of trying to get better. It was too hard, and far too much effort. Even with putting as much effort as he could into it, he still couldn't feel the results. Every day felt like a chore, and every day felt like one more day ticked off - one less day until he died.

Snape was too caring, too concerned, and Harry didn't like it one bit. He wanted to be left alone, wanted to slowly break off all contact until nobody cared about him enough to be sad when he finally killed himself.

Snape, however, was getting in the way of his plans.

In the two weeks that Harry had spent locked up in the flat, Snape had become more and more caring, almost to the extent that Sirius had been. Harry hoped that Snape's actions were temporary, and that this bond would be broken as soon as Harry went back to Hogwarts. It seemed possible - but not as likely as Harry would have liked it to be.

He wanted to become a loner, an outsider. He wanted people to stop wanting to help him. And he had a plan in place for that.

He decided that by the end of the second term of school, he'd be ready to kill himself. The damage control would have already been done, limiting the guilt and sadness that his friends would face when he died. And he would be free to die, knowing that his death - if anything - would come as a relief for others.

* * *

"I think you need to see a healer, Harry," Snape had finally said.

Harry snapped his head up from the book he was reading. "What?

He sighed. "I think maybe then you'd make some more progress," he explained. "You're doing well now," he added. "But I think it would be better if you -"

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Can we please talk about something else?"

"Har-"

"No," he said, voice verging on desperation. "Please. That won't make any difference."

"Harry," Snape tried again. "I know you don't want to, but -"

"No," he said, voice subdued, almost too quiet to his own ears.

"Harry," he said. "Mind healers are known to help with these things."

There were a couple of seconds of silence, and Harry spent them trying to think of something, anything to say.

"Why do you care?" he finally screamed, voice a horrible contrast to the silence that came before it.

Snape flinched back, visibly flinched. His eyebrows rose up into his hairline at this sudden outburst.

"Potter-?"

"Why do you care?" he asked again. "Why do you care so much about me?"

Snape just stared, eyes wide. He looked confused. Then his expression changed, and Harry was almost certain he saw disgust on the potion master's face.

"You don't care," said Harry, almost relieved with this revelation. "You don't care."

Snape looked even more appalled. "No, Harry, of course I care. Why would you -?"

"You don't care," he insisted, standing up abruptly. "You don't."

And then he stormed out without another word, selfishly wanting Snape to come running after him.

But he didn't.

Harry collapsed onto his bed, tears pricking his eyes.

_What's wrong with me? Why can't I just act like a normal person? Can't I even _pretend_ to be normal?_

He closed his eyes.

_Freak._

He knew he wasn't normal. He never would be.

_Worthless._

He sat up again quickly, rolling up his sleeves and staring down at his scarred arms. The scars already looked old, too old for his liking. He had felt the need to cut again since he woke up in the Burrow, but had resisted it so far out of both self-preservation and his own twisted sense of pride.

But both those things had disappeared again. And he was left with the sinking feeling that it was all just too much. This, being here, was just too much for him to handle. And the Boggart had been the final straw - the deciding factor.

Snape knew about the dreams, about Harry's constant fear of people dying. He didn't want him to know, didn't want him to think of him as weak, didn't want him to try and protect him. So many people had died trying to protect him, and he couldn't have Snape.

And Sirius was still dead. And it was still Harry's fault. And his friends were in danger. And he could do nothing to protect them.

Harry slammed his hand down on the side-table in frustration. The dull pain felt good, but it wasn't what he needed. He needed something that really hurt, something that left a mark, that left a reminder of what a failure he was.

But of course, this stupid house wouldn't let him do that. He knew the charms wouldn't let him hurt himself.

Harry sighed, knowing it was worth a shot, anyhow.

With a slight feeling of guilt, Harry picked up the lamp on his bedside table. The base of it was made of porcelain, a stupid choice in Harry's opinion. Porcelain could be too easily broken.

He dropped the lamp to the floor, and it landed with an almighty crash. Harry didn't care whether Snape heard or not. He was too absorbed in his own path to self destruction.

He bent down, picked up one of the broken pieces of china and studied it. He turned the fragment around in his hand, looking for the sharpest point.

Doubt and uncertainty filled his mind.

_Do I want to go back to how I was before? Do I want to keep doing this?_

He dug it into his flesh and tore it down his arm. As soon as the piece of china reached halfway down it suddenly popped out of existence.

That must have been the charm.

Harry smiled to himself. _Is it really going to be this easy?_

He bent down, picking up another piece of the cracked lamp. The cut he had made with the previous fragment was small, but some of the dust from the porcelain had gotten into it, making it sting just the way he wanted.

He pressed this shard into his skin, not even wincing at the pain.

The new fragment popped out of his hands again.

Just as Harry was about to pick up another piece, the door opened. His heart almost stopped.

Snape stood in the doorway. He got out his wand and quickly cleared up the cracked pieces of the lamp. Harry felt horribly numb again.

What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?

He stayed quiet, watching as Snape cleaned up the floor. Then Snape looked up, eyes full of what Harry could only describe as disappointment.

" 'm sorry," he mumbled, not meaning it at all.

"Harry," he said softly, silently healing the light cuts on Harry's arm, and then placing the wand on the side table.

He sat down on the bed.

Harry just stared forward, trying to process exactly what was happening.

_What do I do now? What do I say to him?_

"I - eh - I," he started. "It . . . broke. And . . . I was j-just, eh, cleaning up the, eh, p-pieces."

Snape didn't say anything.

"I was, eh, just cleaning and then some of the . . . pieces must have got in the way. Or something."

Snape placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Why, Harry? Why?"

Harry flinched back from him. "I told you what happened. It was an accident."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't imagine . . ."

"Can't imagine what?" he said, voice detached, vacant. "Can't imagine what I could ever do to deserve it? Why I would ever do this to myself?"

He looked up, seemingly at loss for words.

"Of course you can't," he continued, voice still possessing the eerily vacant quality. "Because you have no idea. No idea. First there were my parents," he said, voice completely calm, "and then I burdened my aunt and uncle. I drag Ron and Hermione into so much danger. It's a miracle they're still alive, if you ask me. And oh, then there was Cedric. He wasn't so lucky, was he? Neither was . . . neither was Sirius."

"Harry," said Snape, finding his voice again, "that was not your -"

"Of course it was," he said, almost feeling like laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. "Of course it was my fault. If I wasn't so stupid, so immature. If I had actually tried in those damn occlumency lessons."

Snape's face paled somewhat.

"And I know after this it won't stop. It won't stop at Sirius. There'll be more. They're all going to die. Because of me."

And then Harry lunged for the wand on the side table, pointing it straight at Snape. He wanted to stun him, to scream "stupefy," and then run. But he couldn't.

Snape sighed. "Put it down, Harry."

He did so, feeling horribly confused with himself and what he was doing. He had just threatened a teacher.

He put his head in his hands. "God, I'm sorry, Professor. I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening."

There was an odd silence that seemed to last a long time.

"I care about you, Harry. You might not think I care, but I really do. Really. And I want you to remember that I will always be here for you."

Harry looked up, nodding weakly. He hated this, hated feeling like a hostage to his own emotions. Most of the time he felt numb, but when he didn't feel numb, what he felt was overwhelmingly intense in comparison.

"What the hell's wrong with me?" he said, almost too quietly for Snape to hear.

Almost.

He was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. "Nothing, Harry. Nothing is wrong with you."

Harry gulped. "No, you don't understand. You don't -"

"Harry," Snape said harshly. "I do understand. I understand."

Harry tilted his head up, looking at the ceiling, trying desperately to stop the tears that were dripping slowly down his cheeks.

"I hate this," he said quietly. "I hate being like this."

Snape hugged him harder. "I know, Harry. I know. But things are going to get better. Just you see."

Harry cried even harder, burying his head into Snape's shoulder.

_No, you're wrong. _

_Nothing will get better. _

_It will stay like this forever. _

* * *

A/N: So, here we have it, chapter 7. What did you think?

Please point out any typos ... I really need a beta!

Thanks for all of the reviews, favs and follows! I really appreciate everything - especially the reviews! They mean a lot to me :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.


	8. Chapter 8

The last few days of the summer holidays went quickly, and Harry wasn't sure whether he was ready to go back to school or not. The thought of seeing everyone again made him feel sick. But Harry knew he had no choice in the matter. He had to go back to Hogwarts, and that all there was to it.

Snape hadn't asked him whether he was ready to go back, and Harry hadn't expected him to. He obviously knew that Harry was more than a little worried about going back, but there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the two of them that they would not, under any circumstances, talk about Hogwarts.

Harry assumed that Snape was reluctant to talk about what would happen when they went back to school because he wasn't sure exactly what would be happening, but the night before Harry was due to leave, he had spoken up.

"When we go back to Hogwarts," he started, "you do realise that you'll be able to talk to me, right?"

Harry shrugged. "Only if you want me to."

"It's no problem, Potter," Snape said. "I will arrange for you to come and see me at least twice a week after dinner."

Less than a month ago, Harry would have protested against such a suggestion, but now he only nodded.

"All right, then. If it's not too much trouble."

Snape smiled sadly. "Of course it's not too much trouble."

* * *

Harry had refused to travel to King's Cross Station with the Weasleys and Herimone, knowing that he'd be met with a flurry of awkward questions and unwanted attention. He also refused to travel there with Snape. Instead, he arrived at the train station alone, hoping for things to stay that way. He didn't want company, didn't want to have to pretend to want to talk to anyone.

People tried to talk to him, though, but he had simply ignored them. He got on the train quickly, finding an empty compartment and refusing to let anyone else sit with him. Of course, they all must have thought he was saving the seats for Ron and Hermione. But he was not.

When his friends finally found him, he asked them - rudely - to go away. They had stared at him, almost unbelieving for a moment, and then asked him to repeat what he had just said.

"Could you two just go away?" he said, voice purposely cold. "Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to anyone."

Ron blinked at him. "Wait, _what_?"

"Just go away!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Is that so hard for you to understand?"

His two best friends shared a look, and then Hermione spoke up. "Harry, what are you on about?"

He looked away. "Go away."

"We haven't seen you for almost two weeks, and you expect us to suddenly _go_?"

Harry shrugged. "I'd rather be on my own."

Hermione scowled. "Harry, what are you on about? Or this some kind of weird joke? We haven't seen you in two weeks. _Two weeks_, for crying out loud. Nobody's explained where you went, and now you don't want to talk to us at all. I don't understand."

She sighed loudly, in obvious defeat.

Harry blinked up at her. "I just want to be alone."

"Harry," she said. "What's gotten into you? Come on, just let us sit down!"

He glared at them. "I want to be alone," he said again.

Hermione frowned, but then her expression softened. "Harry, if this is about Sirius, then I -"

"No," he almost screamed. "Why does everything have to be about _Sirius_?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry shot him a murderous glare.

"What if I just don't want to talk to either of you? Can't I be fed up with you by now? You two annoy me so bloody much. What if now I've only had the guts to tell you? What if I never liked either of you in the first place?"

Hermione's eyebrows knotted together, but she didn't speak.

"What if I just used you? Hermione, you're pretty clever, you know a lot of spells. And that's all I ever wanted you for - so I could copy your homework. Other than that, I really never liked you at all. But now ... now I can't be bothered keeping up appearances. Just leave me alone. Please."

Hermione stared dumbly, as did Ron.

"H-Harry," she said shakily. "I d-don't ... I don't understand."

"I thought you were the cleverest witch in our generation, Hermione," he said harshly. Every word he said was like a punch to his own chest. "Don't go telling me you're too stupid to understand _that_!"

She blinked back tears, and Harry felt a dull ache in his heart. He had caused that.

"No need to be such a git about it," Ron spat. "We'll go, all right? We just wanted to make sure you were okay."

And then they left. Harry's plan was falling into place. They would hate him soon enough. A few more remarks like that and they wouldn't want to talk to him at all. That would make the whole thing easier for them, when he did finally go through with it.

Harry sighed, mind racing. He wanted to self harm again, especially for all of the horrible things he told his best friends. But instead of doing that, he gave in and fell asleep, not caring that he'd wake up screaming in a couple of hours.

He was just so tired. So tired of everything.

* * *

Harry woke screaming again. His screams pierced the air around him, and he was left completely shocked. For a moment he had no idea where he was - but then it all came back to him. He still kept screaming, though, his hands placed over his ears, trying to block everything out.

He was just about aware of the compartment door being opened. He tried to stop his screaming, instead reverting to fearful whimpers.

Hermione and Neville stared down at him. They helped him sit up, and held him until he stopped his pathetic whimpering.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, stroking some of the hair back from his face. "Shh, it's okay."

He shook his head at her, wanting to snap again, wanting to make her stop caring about him. Why did she care so much?

"Did you have nightmares?" she asked.

Harry refused to answer that, knowing that if he told her one thing, the rest would soon come pouring out.

But his silence spoke a thousand words.

"Oh Harry," she said, hugging him tighter. "It's okay."

Only then he realised that he was sobbing hysterically, whispering "I'm sorry," over and over again.

Well, that had certainly messed up his plan to kill himself. He hadn't counted on apologising.

"It's okay," she said again quietly. "I know you're sorry."

_Damn._

But he supposed that meant he could just get it over with more quickly. Taking people's feelings out of the picture just made everything a whole lot easier.

"I didn't mean what I said," he said pathetically, still sniffling. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted to be left alone, and I was so scared about hurting you and I-"

"It's okay," she said more forcefully. "Wait, what do you mean? You were scared about hurting me?"

_Shoot. I knew I never should have gone to sleep._

"Did I say that?" he asked, scratching the back of his head.

Hermione glared at him. "It doesn't matter. Come on. Come sit with us for a bit."

He stood up shakily, and followed Hermione and Neville.

_I'm going to do it soon_, he decided. _I'll do it before anybody persuades me not to._

* * *

As soon as Snape saw Harry arrive in the Great Hall he let out a sigh. It was almost a sigh of relief. Almost, but not quiet. You see, halfway through this sigh of relief, Harry Potter did something strange. He laughed. That promptly turned Snape's sigh of relief into a coughing fit. Thankfully, the coughing didn't last long enough for many people to notice.

Snape rubbed his temple, staring at Harry again. He was confused, to say the least. The boy looked almost _happy_, now he was with his friends.

Snape sighed, and continued watching. Harry kept up his smile until Ron and Hermione turned away. As soon as they stopped looking, the smile was replaced by a blank, _dead_ look almost immediately. That made Snape's heart sink slightly.

Snape picked up the goblet in front of him, taking a sip of water.

So, the boy was only putting this mask on for his friends? That made him feel even more sorry for the Harry; not being able to be himself in front of his friends wasn't a good position to be in. Keeping up that mask day after day was going to be tough for him, and Snape was starting to regret not speaking up when Lupin had suggested that Harry should not go to school until he was a bit better.

Even now, after not even ten minutes of observing him, Snape could tell that this year was going to be hectic, not only for Potter, but for himself, too. The pressures of being a spy for the Order and maintaining appearances as a Death Eater had been dwarfed by the daunting task ahead of him that was Harry Potter, the daunting task of making sure he regained enough emotional and mental strength to face the Dark Lord when the time came.

Snape lolled back his head, looking up at the magnificent ceiling. He couldn't help but hate Albus, sometimes. The pressures he had already put on Harry were evident in what had happened a couple of weeks back, and what was continuing to happen now. All Snape could do was help Harry the best he could, prepare him as well as he could for whatever lay ahead.

Snape looked up down at the students again, eyes roaming back to Potter. He kept waiting to see whether Harry would look up, would start talking to his friends again. He waited for what seemed too long for Harry to interact with anyone else on the Gryffindor table. This time, he hardly managed to smile. He just nodded, and then looked away.

Worry made its way to the forefront of his mind. The worry was quickly replaced by a fear Snape had rarely felt before.

* * *

Snape approached Harry as soon as the feast had ended.

"Every Monday and Thursday, Harry," Snape said.

Harry frowend up at him. "Wait, what are you -?"

"After dinner," he specified. "Every Thursday and Monday. You are to come to my office, and you will tell me everything that has gone on in the week."

Harry nodded slowly, still looking a little confused.

Snape sighed. "And after every defence lesson, I would also like you to stay behind for a couple of minutes - not for long," he added upon seeing the look on Harry's face. "Just long enough to tell me anything, if that's what you need to do."

Harry nodded slowly again.

"Right," Snape said. "Catch up with your friends. I'll be seeing you in soon."

Harry hesitated. He frowned slightly, opened his mouth to say something, but then shook his head and turned away.

Snape rubbed his eyes, wondering exactly what the next term would entail for both of them.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much to ParseltongueSpeaker, who helped me with this chapter :D Also, thanks to everybody for the reviews!


	9. Chapter 9

Dawn had barely broken, but Harry was sitting awake in his bed, staring at the scars - old and new - that marred his skin. He had woken screaming from another nightmare hours before, but the snoring from around him indicated that the charms he learnt from Snape had worked.

He had gotten changed into his school robes as soon as he woke, knowing that it would have been next to impossible to get to sleep now. He certainly wasn't stable enough to witness another nightmare. Even the thought of it made him shake with fear.

He slowly got up off his bed and made his way down to the common room. It was dark and quiet, much quieter than the dorm had been. It was peaceful, and Harry preferred it like this, being alone.

He flopped down on the armchair near the fireplace, trying not to look at the fireplace itself. So many memories of Sirius came flooding back to him. Most of the advice he'd been given, support he'd received had come from Sirius from this very fireplace. And it was starting to make Harry feel sick.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

He heard the gentle tapping of footsteps coming down the stairs from the girl's dormitory, and suddenly realised how odd it would look; him, sitting here alone, looking at an empty fireplace, school uniform on, shaking as if he were cold.

He didn't turn as he heard the person finally reach the bottom of the staircase, didn't turn when he heard the footsteps suddenly stop and the person sigh.

But then she spoke.

"Harry?" she said quietly, uncertainly. "Is that you?"

He turned, meeting the tired - yet concerned - gaze of Hermione.

He nodded. "Yeah, it's me."

She still wore her pyjamas but was carrying a thick-looking book in her hands.

"What are you doing up?" she said softly, coming to stand by him. She placed the book on the sofa next to her.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, just woke up early, I guess. What about you?"

"Harry," she said, ignoring his question entirely. "You're all lone, in the dark. What are you doing?"

He frowned at her. "Nothing, all right? I just woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Is that a crime?"

She looked at him, eyes searching his for the truth. "Was ... Did you have another nightmare?"

Harry didn't answer, but his reluctance to answer gave the game away.

"Is it about Voldemort?" she asked kindly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Harry tried hard not to flinch. "Is it about him? Do you want me to get Dumbledore? Or McGonagall? Or -?"

"It's not," he said quickly. "It's not about him."

She stared at him once more and removed her hand from his shoulder. "Is it Sirius?" she asked very quietly.

Harry didn't answer again, digging his nails into the palms of his hands.

"Oh Harry," she said. "Harry, don't -"

"Don't what? Worry? Think about it?" he said, voice thick in his throat.

He felt on the verge of tears, on the verge of telling her everything. The mask that he had tried to maintain was slowly starting to slip away from him.

She frowned at him. "I think -"

"Look, Hermione," he said sharply. "I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me."

"I -"

"Really," he said, looking away from her, afraid that she would spot the wetness in his eyes.

She finally let out a reluctant sigh. "All right, then. As long as you're sure."

He stood up. "I'm going for a walk." He couldn't stay here any longer. He couldn't keep pretending.

She stared at him.

"I'll meet you at breakfast."

"Harry," she said, her voice returning. "Why? Where are you going?"

"I just need to get out of _this_," he threw his hands up in the air. "This place. This room. I can't ... I can't stick it. I need to be alone."

She looked a little taken aback. "But it's not even five AM. Harry, do you really think it's a good idea to be -"

"I need to be alone," he said. "Please, Hermione. I won't be long."

She looked torn, but eventually nodded. "Just be careful not to get caught by anyone."

Harry shrugged. "It's fine. I've got the cloak."

She smiled at him sadly. "Do you want me to come with you? Would you like some company?"

He shook his head. "I need to be alone for a while."

Her eyes softened. "Okay. If you think that's best."

* * *

Snape stood looking over the school grounds from the top of the astronomy tower. He stood close enough to the door to be able to hear whether anyone was coming up and far enough away from it to get a good view of the grounds below. It was beautiful, at this time in the morning. So peaceful and quiet. That's why he came up here so often; the silence helped him think.

Last night's talk with Albus had left him with a lot to think about. It had also left him unable to sleep. He had tried arguing with the ageing wizard, but hadn't been able to formulate a logical argument, let alone a reasonable alternative to Albus's horrifying solution.

When he had first been asked to kill Albus, Snape had flat-out refused. But after a long-winded explanation from him, Snape had seen sense, has realised that is was the right thing to do - a step in the right direction to defeating the Dark Lord.

But this was different, so very different.

_The boy has to die. When the time comes he will _have_ to die._

Snape tried to push those thoughts away, telling himself that there must be an alternative. The logical part of his mind tried to tell him otherwise, tried to tell him that this was the only way to defeat the Dark Lord.

He felt betrayed by his mentor, utterly betrayed. After all of these years, after these past few exhausting weeks of trying to keep the boy alive he finally found out the only reason he had ever been doing it in the first place: so Harry could die at the _right moment_.

Snape ran a hand through his hair, trying to slow his breathing. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew that he cared about Potter. Over the last couple of weeks his feelings had changed.

The boy was not his father, not in the slightest. He wasn't Lily either - at least not completely. He wasn't the boy-who-lived, wasn't some arrogant teenager with a hero complex. He was just, quite simply, Harry, a boy who was dragged into all of this. He had never asked to be the boy-who-lived, never asked to have his parents murdered, never asked to speak Parseltongue or to be chosen by the Goblet of Fire.

And he had certainly never asked to harbour a part of Voldemort's soul within him. He never asked to be a Horcrux.

_He has to die._

Snape heard footsteps running up the stairs, and straightened up a little. The wooden door burst open in a sudden flare of dramatics and out of it came a stumbling Harry Potter. He was red-faced and out of breath. He then walked slowly across the observatory floor and towards the railing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, taking another step towards the railing. "I'm so sorry."

Snape froze with both shock and a sudden fear.

_He's going to jump. He's going to jump if I don't stop him._

But Snape couldn't say anything, couldn't move, couldn't even cast a spell. The fear that paralysed him rendered him useless.

Then Harry took one long, deep breath, and Snape finally found his voice.

"H-Harry?" he said, that one word full of desperation.

The boy turned slowly, staring with those death-like eyes. Dull green, not at all like Lily's anymore. The grey shadows underneath his eyes looked like smudges of soot, and they only made him look closer to the brink of death.

"Professor?" he asked carefully, backing away slowly towards the edge. "Sir, I'm sorry."

"Harry, get away from the edge. Don't - don't move."

Harry frowned and turned to where Snape was pointing - the courtyard below - before turning back. "You think I'm going to jump?"

Snape didn't say anything.

Harry smiled lightly. "No, sir. I just came up here for some peace and quiet."

Snape had rather a hard time believing that. "Just step away from there."

Harry did so, eyebrows knotting together in confusion. "Sir, I'm really not going to -"

"And what do you expect me to think?" Snape snapped.

Harry's frown became deeper. "What -?"

"With you," he continued, "coming up here at the crack of dawn, alone, walking towards the edge of the tower. What was I supposed to _think_?"

Harry looked down, cheeks burning up. "Sorry, sir. I just ... I dunno, I just couldn't stick it in there anymore. Everything reminds me of ... of _him_."

It felt as if someone had punched Snape in the chest.

"It'll get better, Harry," he said after a couple of seconds of silence. "Trust me, it will."

Harry didn't respond.

Despite not exactly liking the man himself, Snape started to find his respect for the late Sirius Black growing. Sure, the man had been foolish at the best of times, arrogant, impulsive and insanely fearless, but Snape couldn't deny that Black had been a good godfather. He had given Harry the hope and support he needed to get through some tough times.

And now he was gone.

It reminded Snape so much of losing Lily that for a moment he was speechless. Then slowly he began to realise what Harry had meant when he had tried explaining to him why he didn't want to live. Piece by piece, Harry was slowly losing everything and everyone he loved. And he believed that it was _his_ fault this was happening.

"Harry," he said carefully. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't. It was Voldemort's. Voldemort killed your parents -"

"Because of _me_!" Harry said. "He killed them because he wanted to kill me."

"Was it your fault that he wanted to kill you? Did you make the prophecy? No, it was out of your control. All of these things you blame yourself for, Harry, _all of them_, have been Voldemort's fault."

"But if I hadn't -"

"Harry," he said. "Nothing was your fault. Nothing at all."

Harry stared up at him, eyes holding a shred of hope. But then he looked away. "I don't believe you."

Snape sighed. "Come on Harry, let's get down from here. You've got a full day ahead of you - first Potions lesson without me. I'm sure you're looking forward to _that_."

Harry didn't look as if he had heard much of what Snape said, but walked towards the door anyway.

"Do you want me to get Remus for you?" Snape asked quietly. "Do you want to talk to him?"

Harry kept walking. "No, sir. It's fine."

They walked down the stairs in silence, and Snape walked Harry back to the Gryffindor Tower.

"Go straight back to bed," Snape said. "Try to get some sleep. You've got a couple of hours left."

Harry looked up at him. "Thank you, sir. Thank you."

* * *

A/N: I wrote a much longer version of this chapter ages ago, but my computer deleted it! :'( sadness...

But oh well :D Thanks for all of the reviews/favs/follows. They make me so happy ^_^


	10. Chapter 10

Harry sat in his bed until Ron woke up, still thinking about Sirius. The guilt was overwhelming. All he could do was sit there and replay the scene over again in his mind. He felt sick. If he had eaten more yesterday he probably would have thrown up there and then, but thankfully his stomach was pretty empty.

_I'm sorry, Sirius. I'm so sorry. _

His hands shook.

_It should have been me who died. It was my fault. It should have been me._

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

And as he sat there in his bed, waiting for everyone to wake up, he drew a shard of glass down his arm. For a moment he could see the inside of his flesh. It was pearly white for barely a second. He felt like he was looking at something he wasn't meant to see. But then the red poured out, and Harry sighed. He wiped the blood away with a tissue, and then cut himself again. By the time Ron had woken up, Harry could hardly see his own pale skin beneath the scars. He pulled down his sleeves, wincing as the material rubbed against the open wounds.

"Mornin'," Ron yawned. He sat up for a second before lying back down on the bed again. "I . . . don't wanna get -" He yawned. "- up, yet."

Harry smiled. "First lesson with Snape today."

Ron groaned. " . . . Really?"

"Yep," Harry said, standing up. "Anyway, I'm going to go for a walk. I'll see you in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Ron looked up, eyes half closed with sleep. "What about -" yawn "- breakfast?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not really that hungry, to be honest."

"Whatever," Ron said, rolling over and pulling the blankets up over his head. "I'm going back to sleep for a bit."

* * *

Snape's first Defence Against the Dark Arts class wasn't nearly as bad as Harry had anticipated; it was actually pretty good. Snape didn't pick on Harry at all, which was a relief, if a little disconcerting at first. He hardly picked on anyone else, either, not even Neville.

They practised non-verbal spells, something Harry found easier than most people. His silent shield had even earned Gryffindor five points from Snape. Though, to be fair, the same shield earned forty points for Slytherin half an hour later. Harry was glad that things hadn't completely changed.

"Good work, Potter," Snape had said once - by accident, of course - something which caused a few gasps of astonishment from the rest of the Gryffindors. That compliment, however, was counterbalanced with, "But I will need to see you straight after today's lesson, regarding your earlier behaviour."

Harry knew what Snape really wanted to talk about, but Hermione and Ron wouldn't stop grumbling about the unfairness of it all.

"We'll see you in the common room," Hermione said on her way out. "He probably won't keep you for too long."

"Yeah," Harry said unenthusiastically. "I'll see you."

As soon as everyone left, Snape turned to Harry. His dark eyes were cold and his expression gave little away.

"I heard that you've been made Gryffindor's Quidditch captain," he said quietly, pulling up two chairs. "Sit down, Harry."

Harry sat, not knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. "Yes, sir. I'm the captain. . .?"

The fact that he was the captain, was a little daunting, if truth be told. He didn't want to be Gryffindor's captain, let alone remain Gryffindor's Seeker. The responsibilities and expectations were already making him feel queasy with worry.

Snape nodded. "Very good. You'll make a good captain." Then he attempted a bigger smile. "And I'm glad to see how able you are in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Harry shrugged, looking away. "Thanks, I guess." Harry just wanted to get out. He knew Snape would soon move onto a different topic of conversation, and he was already thinking about what Snape would ask him next.

The worry was like a hand was pushing down his chest, making it impossible to breathe. It felt like his airways were slowly closing up, choking him. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought he was having an asthma attack.

In actual fact, this was the first stage of one of his panic attacks. His thoughts were slowly turning to an incoherent mush, leaving behind any sense of logic. His breath rattled, hands shook, and he was overly aware of the stinging scars on his arms. If Snape found out ... Harry didn't even want to think about what would happen if Snape saw how bad his scars were.

"Harry?" asked Snape, voice just about audible to him. "Are you okay?" Harry didn't respond. "Harry. Look at me."

Harry looked up, trying to keep his face clear of worry, trying so hard not to show his fear. It was an almost impossible task. His breath was still heavy, heart still pounding, but he managed to talk, at least. "I'm fine," he said. "I'm okay."

Snape's frown deepened. "Are you sure?"

He took a long time to process this, and when he finally looked back up again, Snape looked even more worried. "I'm fine," said Harry. "I guess I'm tired, or something. I probably just didn't get enough sleep last night."

"Do you need a moment to compose yourself?"

Harry shook his head, trying to keep his breathing steady. "Nah. 'm fine. Really, I am."

Snape didn't look convinced. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"Don't you have a lesson now?" Harry asked quietly, not so subtly hinting that he wanted to leave. The room seemed to be closing in on him, and he wanted out as soon as possible.

"They can wait out there for a minute or two," he said. "Now, Harry, I was wondering whether I could have a look at your arms. I forgot to ask you this morning."

Harry blinked. "You - uh - what? My arms? No it's . . . I'm fine."

Snape shifted in his seat, his mouth drawing into a straight line across his face. "Harry, give me your arm. I just want to make sure you're okay. I won't be angry. I just want to make sure . . ."

He stared for a moment, straight into unwavering black eyes. Then he gulped, straightening up in his chair. "No, sir," he said quickly. "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong."

"If there's nothing wrong, then do you mind me seeing how your old scars are doing?" Snape countered.

"They're fine," he said. "I'm fine."

"Harry," he warned. "You don't want to get an infection."

"No," he said. "Really, I'm fine."

Harry stood up, and as he did Snape grabbed his wrist. The fragile cuts on his arm burned with white-hot pain, raw bloodied wounds tore open again as Snape tried to pull him back down. He fell down onto his seat with a hiss of pain. Snape let go immediately, eyes widening.

Harry held his arm to his chest, trying to assess the damage. He could feel that all of the new cuts around his wrist had reopened, and knew that some of the bigger ones further up would start bleeding if he moved his arm in the wrong way.

"Harry?" Snape said quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't . . . "

Harry looked up, staring at Snape like a deer caught in headlights.

"It's okay," Snape said. "I'm not angry with you."

Harry stood up suddenly, stepping back and almost tripping over the chair behind him. "I've got to go. I've got to go . . . and study. Free period . . . "

He stumbled through the classroom, almost tripping over a few times. He knocked a couple of stools over but didn't think to turn back and pick them up. Snape called after him quietly but Harry didn't have the guts to turn back. He just wanted to go back to Gryffindor Tower and lock himself up away from everyone.

He pushed open the door, barging through a group of Fifth Years lined up outside, Luna Lovegood being one of them. She stared at him oddly, head tilted and blonde eyebrows furrowed.

"Harry?" she said in her dream-like voice.

He nodded back at her, pushing through the crowds. "Hey Luna. I've, eh, gotta go, sorry."

She blinked a few times and then smiled. "See you, Harry."

He smiled back, turned, and started walking. However, he had only taken a few steps before he heard Snape's voice boom down the corridor.

"Potter! Come back. I haven't finished talking to you."

Harry stopped, cursing under his breath. He turned, trying to ignore the curious looks from the fifth years. "Yes, sir?"

Snape ran his hand though his hair. "Come back. I need to speak with you."

"No," Harry said, turning to walk away. "I'm going."

This was never going to end well now. Snape wouldn't just let him leave, and he knew it.

"POTTER!" Snape roared. "Get back here right this INSTANT!"

Harry didn't listen, just kept on walking. There was a collective gasp of shock from the crowd.

"Harry," Snape called. "I'm _talking_ to you! Come back here, Potter, or I'll -"

Harry turned. "Or you'll what?" he snapped. "Give me detention?"

Luna stared at him from the crowd, nodding along as if this was the type of confrontation she had been expecting. The rest of the group was watching the scene unfold with looks of disbelief.

Snape ran his hand through his hair again, and even from this distance Harry could tell he was having a hard time keeping things together.

"Potter," he said. "I want to see you at the end of the day. Come here after dinner has finished."

Harry nodded, relieved that he'd have a little more time to get. "Yes, sir."

Snape nodded, looking a little flustered. "Right. Off you go then, Potter. . . And that's forty points from Gryffindor for your cheek!"

* * *

Potions had been a breeze, at least compared to last year. With the help of some untidily written notes in his old, tattered potions book, Harry had managed to make a near perfect Draught of the Living Death, winning himself a vial of liquid luck in the process. He gave the potion straight to Hermione, of course, not seeing any need for it, himself.

"Are you sure you want to give this to me, Harry?" she asked uncertainly, holding the tiny vial in her hands. "It's yours! You _won_ it."

He shrugged, not wanting to tell her exactly how he had won it in the first place. "I don't want it. Save it if you want. Just be sure to use it when you need it most."

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged again. "I dunno. If we ever get into trouble, you can take it to get us out of it."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

He smiled. "Of course. Maybe save a couple of hours for me, if you want."

She beamed, leaning over to give him a tight hug. "Thank you so much, Harry. This is brilliant!"

He smiled, standing up. Keeping up this act any longer would be impossible. "No problem," he said. "Hey, I'm going to go wander around for a bit - to stretch my legs. Okay? Tell Ron I'll see him later."

She blinked up at him a couple of times. "Oh, right. Okay. Sure. Do you want me to come with you? It's almost time for dinner, you know."

He shook his head, trying not to show how much he really needed company at the moment. The loneliness was starting to kill him. "Nah, it's okay. I'll probably be back in time for that. If you don't see me, I'll be with Snape. He wants to talk to me. So anyway . . . I'll see you later."

He gave her a long hug, wondering why he was suddenly feeling so emotional. When he stepped back, Hermione was staring at him as if she'd never seen him before.

"So . . ." he said. "I'll see you later."

She didn't say anything.

He smiled, trying to hold back his tears. "Bye, Hermione. You're a great friend, you know."

* * *

Harry found himself sitting out by the Great Lake, head in his hands. The water lapped up onto the shore, close to his feet, almost as if it were daring him to come even closer. The sky was starting to darken but Harry couldn't face going back inside yet. With a sigh, he tilted his head up at the clouds.

The whole world seemed so empty. Even though Harry knew that everyone was either inside the Great Hall eating dinner, or doing something somewhere else in the castle, Harry couldn't help but feel like he was the last person on Earth. Because he could have been. There was a crushing silence all around him, reminding him how very alone he was.

That thought - that he was the only one here - was both liberating and terrifying. One part of him, the part he often tried to ignore, told him that this was the perfect place to do it, the perfect place to end it all. The darkness, the silence all around him, it would be a peaceful place to live his last moments.

The dark water tempted him, called to him, and he seriously considered walking straight in and letting himself drown.

And it would be so easy. Almost _too_ easy.

He stood up, taking a step towards the water's edge. The last of the light bounced of the water's surface, making the lake look all the more tempting. The urge to keep walking was starting to take over. There was nothing stopping him from doing this, nothing at all. That was what scared him, how easy it was. If killing himself was harder, he would be less likely to attempt it. But this was horribly simple.

He took another step forward, his shoes now submerged. The water leaked through, and he could feel it. It was freezing. It numbed his skin.

_This is nice. It's easy._

He took a couple more steps forward, the icy water now up to his shins. His legs felt numb, heavy.

_A couple more steps._

He stepped in further and further, slowly accepting that this would be the end. Hopefully it would be fairly peaceful. Calm. Quiet. It would be a gentle death. He would feel his life slowly slip from his body and then there would be nothing, nothing at all.

He closed his eyes, taking yet another step.

_Almost there._

Then it started to rain, the acid-like raindrops against his face bringing him back into reality. The water was now up to his waist, and he was shivering like mad. His legs tingled with the cold and he was starting to lose the feeling in his feet.

_Bloody hell, what am I doing?_

He stumbled back out of the water, falling back onto the shore. He stared out at the dark waves, scrambling back even further from the water's edge. He grabbed his wand and dried himself off, trying not to think of what he had been so close to doing. It took a couple of minutes to pull himself together, to gather enough strength before he even considered going back inside.

His thoughts were a complete mess, and as he tried to organise them he realised he had forgotten something very important: Snape.

Harry stood up shakily, trying to compose himself. Broken sobs left his lips, and he stood rooted to the spot until they stopped. He took a few wobbly steps towards the castle, hoping that he would be able to build up enough strength in time.

He just hoped he wasn't late enough for Snape to notice, because he had no idea how he'd be able to tell a convincing lie in this state, and he sure as hell didn't want Snape finding out what had almost happened.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for such the long wait! Hopefully, the next chapter will be updated more quickly!

Thanks for all the reviews!

Sorry for any typos!


	11. Chapter 11

It shouldn't have taken him long to walk up to Snape's room, but Harry found himself struggling. After less than ten steps he felt like collapsing to the ground and giving up. Somehow he made himself carry on. It was a struggle, but that - at least - gave him something to think about, material to distract himself from what had almost happened.

Sooner than he had expected, he arrived outside Snape's room. He knocked on the door, swaying on his feet. He was starting to realise that he was much more than a little late for his meeting with Snape. Dinner had finished a long time ago, and the corridors were practically deserted.

"Come in," he heard the voice bellow from inside the classroom.

He pushed the door open. Snape sat at his desk, quill in hand.

"Sorry I'm late, sir," Harry said shakily, closing the door shut behind him. "Lost track of time."

_Don't think about what happened. Just get this over with._

Snape kept writing. "I was expecting to see you an hour ago, Potter."

"Sorry, sir," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I was out ... uh ... running."

_Drat. That's blown it._

Snape stopped writing and looked up from his work, lips twitching with a smile. "Running?"

"Yeah," he said, gulping. "Running. Need to get fit for Quidditch season, you see."

"I didn't see you at dinner," Snape said, looking back down at his papers again.

"That's because I was running, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow, not looking up from his work. "I see. It's a little late to be running, don't you agree?"

Harry shrugged, trying to stop himself from shaking so much. He was sure Snape would soon notice. "It was nice and quiet. There was hardly anybody around."

Snape shook his head with a sigh, looking back up at Harry. "I expect it _was_ quiet, seeing as everyone was probably_ inside_ having their evening meal."

"Oh . . .?" said Harry, not too sure what Snape was getting at. "Uh ... yeah."

"Would you like something to eat?" asked Snape. "I could ask one of the house elves to -"

"No thanks," he said quickly, attempting a smile. "I'm fine." Even thinking about eating anything right now made him want to throw up. His stomach was doing flips.

Snape nodded. "As long as you're sure . . . Now, Potter, sit down for me, if you would. I would like to inspect that arm of yours before we talk any further."

_Crap._

Harry stood there, trying to think of an excuse, trying to get out of this. "Sir, I -"

"Harry," he said. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. There's no need to be embarrassed."

Harry almost laughed at that, at the absurdness of it all. Of course it was 'that bad'. Of course he was embarrassed. He had let Snape down by continuing to do this, he had _failed_, and that's why he was embarrassed. He was a failure. He was a freak. What normal person would do this to themselves? What normal person actually _liked_ being in pain?

Harry stood there, unable to make himself move. He wanted to run out, but was frozen to the spot with fear and shame and guilt.

"Harry," said Snape. "Come on. Let's have a look."

After a couple of seconds he found the will to move. Still shaking, he dragged a stool around to the front desk and sat down opposite Snape. He could already feel his eyes watering; he wanted to burst into tears this very second. He wanted to let it all out.

"Let me see," Snape said kindly. "It's okay."

He lifted his arm shakily, taking a little too long to roll up the sleeve. His arm was covered in small scars, most of them new. He closed his eyes, waiting for Snape's reaction. There were a couple of seconds of silence, in which Harry could only hear is own shaky breathing. He only hoped Snape wouldn't ask to see the other arm, which was worse - much worse.

"Harry," Snape said. "When did you do this?"

Harry opened his eyes, immediately looking away. "I'm not sure."

Snape sighed. "Let's heal this up, then."

Harry looked away and Snape healed the wounds, leaving his arm a blank canvas again.

"Could I see your other arm, now?" he asked.

Harry bit his lip, wanting to refuse. But then slowly and carefully he rolled up his other sleeve. He stared at the cuts, trying to feel ashamed or embarrassed at them, but for some reason those emotions didn't surface. Instead of embarrassment, he felt a sickening surge of pride at what he had done to himself. Because this was much worse than he had remembered. He didn't remember it being _that_ bad. He hadn't remembered the cuts being that deep. His whole arm was covered with dried blood, and under that he could see the countless scars. Almost all of them were made this morning.

As the pride inside him grew, he felt an urge to throw up. He shouldn't feel proud of this, he should feel ashamed, should feel guilty, because he knew that Snape would find these scars ugly, would think they were disgusting.

_To him, I look hideous. _

Harry glanced back up at Snape, who looked paler than Harry had ever seen him.

"Sir?" he asked quietly.

Snape looked up, eyes glassy. "Right ... I'll just, uh, heal that for you."

Harry looked away again as Snape healed it, not wanting to watch his work disappear.

Snape took a long, shuddering breath. "Harry," he said, and Harry turned back. "Why weren't you at dinner? I want the real answer, this time."

Harry didn't say a word.

"Right," Snape said, as if his refusal to answer confirmed something. "I want you to tell me what really happened."

"I went for a run," he said, noticing how his voice wavered, how he sounded a little too desperate.

"I'm only going to ask one more time, Harry -"

"Or what?" Harry asked. "What are you going to do if I don't answer? Nothing."

Snape blinked a few times, not commenting on what Harry just said. "How are things with your friends?"

"Good," Harry snapped, a little confused with the sudden change of subject. "Things are fine."

Snape raised his eyebrow again. "And what about your suicidal thoughts? Have you had many today?"

Harry gulped, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "None."

Immediately, he knew that was the wrong thing to say, because Snape's eyes narrowed. He'd had the thoughts every day, and 'none' was such a blatant lie. "What happened, Harry? I won't be mad."

Harry stared across the room, not wanting to give Snape another reason to be worried about a boy he once hated.

"Harry?"

"I felt like killing myself," he said, trying to sound like he was making some kind of progress, "so I went for a walk. I thought about it for a while, and now I know, deep down, that I don't really want to die." It was close enough to the truth, yet so painfully far from it at the same time.

Snape still didn't seem convinced. "I want what really happened."

"Fine," he said. "If you really want to know that badly -"

"And I want the truth," said Snape. "If you don't mind."

Harry gulped and looked away. "I went out to the Great Lake."

He heard Snape let out a loud sigh. "To do what?"

Harry tightened his hands into fists, trying to keep his breathing steady. "At first," he said, "I went there to think."

"And then?"

"Then," Harry said, trying to stop his shaking "Then ..."

"Harry?

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I tried to - to d-drown myself."

* * *

Snape had no idea what to say, had no idea what to do. Harry sat opposite him, head in his hands, whole body shaking. And Snape felt like crying. At first this whole thing hadn't been so bad. At first he could cope with Harry's self harm, he could deal with the fact that he was willing to kill himself. But now it was all too much. It hurt him to see Harry like this. The scars, so many of them, made him feel helpless.

"Harry," he said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

The boy looked up, and Snape was once again shocked by the pain behind those eyes. In class he had looked almost happy, and Snape had started to wonder whether Harry was improving. But this was painful for him to look at.

"I feel ..." Harry said. "I feel like I'm losing my mind." Harry let his head fall back into his hands again. "I can't do this anymore. I can't do this."

"Yes you can -"

"No," he said, shaking even harder. "I can't do this anymore. I can't do this." He looked up, tears swimming in his eyes. "_Please_, I can't do this. I can't."

"You can do this," said Snape. "You can. You are strong, and I know you can do this. I know things seem hard right now, but it will get better." Snape knew he was lying, because he knew exactly what was in store for Potter. He knew exactly what the poor kid would soon have to face, and knew it was not in any way 'better'.

Harry scoffed. "Sure it will get fucking better. Sure it will."

"You have already made progress," Snape said. "If this was an impulsive -"

"But it wasn't impulsive," said Harry, sitting up straight, eyes sparking with anger. "It was _opportunistic_. I had a chance, and I took it, because I had no idea when I'd have that chance again."

Those words left him feeling cold, and for a moment he was unable to formulate an adequate reply. "So," he said, "you took a chance because you didn't know when you'd have the same opportunity again? As opposed to doing it without thinking?"

"Yes," he said, and then shook his head. "No. I don't know. It just felt right. But I didn't think about it much, because I already knew it was the right thing."

Snape held back from saying exactly what he wanted to say. "And why didn't you go through with it?"

Harry froze, his eyes regaining that look of fear. "I ... I don't know. It scared me. It didn't feel like it was me making the decision. I don't ... I don't know. I just wimped out."

"You did not 'wimp out'," said Snape, trying to keep his emotions under control. "It is not _cowardly_ to want to live, Harry. Committing suicide is _not_ brave -"

"I know that," he said, face reddening. "I know, all right? You don't think I know how weak I am? Suicide _is_ cowardly, and I know that. But this is something I wanted for so long, _so long_, and now I'm suddenly so bloody scared of doing it. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic."

"You are not -"

"But I am," he said shakily. "I am pathetic." He rolled up the sleeve of his jumper, pointing a pale finger at the scars. "_This._ Why the hell would anyone do this to themselves? It's bloody pathetic. I tried drinking, once, but this was the only thing that helped. If that's not pathetic, then what is?"

Snape couldn't help but stare at the scars again. He was again lost for words. Again, he felt like crying.

"Look," he said. "I know -"

"I just want my parents," Harry said quietly, immediately shutting Snape up. "I wish they were alive. Maybe then I wouldn't be so ... so broken."

And that was the final straw. Snape was speechless. He watched as Harry began to cry, not knowing what to do.

"I ... I want Sirius," he said, voice breaking. "And I w-want my parents." He looked up. "I need to see Remus."

Snape blinked a few times, trying to take this in. "Right," he said slowly. "Do you want me to -?"

"I need to see him," Harry said. "I need to talk to him."

"Why do you -?"

"I need to say goodbye," he said quietly. "Please, I need to say goodbye."

"What -?"

"Just in case," he said. "Just in case I try it again. I need to say goodbye."

Snape nodded numbly. "I will try to arrange something. But not to say goodbye, Harry. You don't need to say goodbye, because I promise that you won't be going anywhere."

* * *

A/N: sorry for the long wait again. Right now I'm on holiday (vacation) so I won't be updating for a little while ^_^ Thanks for the reviews and whatnot!


	12. Chapter 12

_Last chapter:_

_Snape nodded. "I will try to arrange something. But not to say goodbye, Harry. You don't need to say goodbye, because I promise that you won't be going anywhere."_

* * *

Harry felt like laughing at those words.

_I promise that you won't be going anywhere._

It was ridiculous. And he almost hated Snape for saying that. _I don't need to say goodbye? I almost killed myself today and you don't think I need to say goodbye?_

He felt like saying it. He almost said it. With Snape sitting in front of him looking hopeful and determined, a horrible part of Harry felt like telling him that there was no hope left, that Snape was just kidding himself now. A part of him wanted to ask why Snape was even bothering when they both knew how this would turn out.

Harry just looked away. "As long as I get to see him."

Whatever Snape thought would happen, Harry now had the chance to see Remus one last time, tell him how truly sorry he was for everything that had happened.

_If only I had tried harder in those Occlumency lessons. If only I was a better fighter. If only I was braver. Maybe Sirius'd still be here today._

Harry absently rubbed the scar on his forehead, wondering what – if anything – he could do to make Remus see how truly sorry he was for what had happened. One part of him wanted to work at his Occlumency, wanted to work at his duelling, wanted to make sure that nothing like this would ever happen again. But another part of him told him that training would be pointless, that he was already too broken to fix.

"Then I will ask him to come," Snape said kindly. "Maybe you will feel better after talking with him."

Harry shrugged, looking away. "Maybe."

"Now," Snape said, tone still disconcertingly soft and gentle. "After what has happened, I think it may be best for you to stay in the hospital wing tonight."

Harry could only nod, because he knew Snape was right. He knew that he would only hurt himself more if he went back to Gryffindor Tower.

_But isn't that what I want_? he asked himself. _I want to keep hurting myself. I want it, don't I? _

It was getting harder for him to figure out what he really did want. Sometimes he wanted to get better, but sometimes all he wanted to do was get consumed by the dark thoughts inside his head. Right now he wasn't too sure which of the two he wanted most.

"It's just for one night?" he confirmed.

Snape nodded. "You may stay for longer if you feel you need to."

Harry stood. "Okay, then." He just wanted to get out. He hated how Snape was looking at him. "Shall I go now?"

"Yes," said Snape. "And I shall accompany you. Madam Pomfrey is aware of your…situation, but I will need to make some things clear with her."

Harry nodded. "S-sure."

"And then I'll get talking to Remus," Snape said, standing and placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Saturday, maybe? I'm sure we could arrange that."

Harry smiled, but inside felt uneasy. _So once I've spoken to Remus there is nothing holding me back? Once I've said goodbye I'm free to die?_

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, trying not to make those thoughts visible in his expression.

Snape nodded, walking towards the door. "Now, Harry, seeing what has happened, do you think you'd feel up to attending lessons tomorrow?"

_No,_ he wanted to say. There was no way he could see Ron or Hermione, no way he could talk to them without giving anything away. Inside he still felt conflicted about what he had tried to do, and he knew that going to lessons would end in disaster."I don't know," he said, instead of voicing his fears. "I'll see how I'm feeling tomorrow."

Snape nodded. "Of course. That is fine," he said. "I'll escort you to the hospital wing, and then I'll need to have a quick word with Poppy."

* * *

Harry sat on a bed. He was waiting for Snape to finish having his 'quick word' with Madam Pomfrey. So far they had been talking for almost ten minutes in her office across the corridor, and Harry was starting to feel restless. How long did it really take to say it all? And would he tell her _everything_? Did he _need_ to tell her everything? He sighed, biting down on his lip.

The pyjamas he had just changed into felt like straw against his skin. He resisted the urge to scratch, instead drumming his fingers against cold metal on the side of the bed. The room was dark and quiet, all lights turned off, all beds empty apart from his. The only light came from the corridor, from the yellow streaming through the half-open door. Long misshapen shadows stretched out across the room.

The hospital wing door opened further with a creek, letting light flood the room. Harry shielded his eyes, squinting, just about able to make out Snape and Madam Pomfrey as they entered.

Snape glanced at Harry. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you." Madam Pomfrey let the door close shut and Harry blinked a couple of times.

Snape took a moment looking at Harry, frowning. "Would you like me to keep watch over you tonight?"

Harry shook his head before even considering the offer. "No," he said. "No, sir. It's fine. Thank you." He didn't want to put Snape out of his way, however much Harry felt like he needed somebody here with him.

_I don't want to be alone. Don't let me stay here alone. _

Snape nodded. "That is fine, Harry. Now, Madam Pomfrey and I have had a talk, and we think that a trip to St Mungo's would be beneficial."

"St. M-Mungos?" he asked, digging his fingers into the bed. "Wait, I don't think I need to -"

"They have excellent mind healers there, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "It will do you some good."

Harry looked to Snape, panicked. "Sir, please, I don't think I -"

"Madam Pomfrey will be able to arrange an appointment for you for tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?" he echoed dumbly.

"I will be accompanying you, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, smiling.

"Wait," said Harry, feeling the panic start to overwhelm him again. "Madam Pomfrey, Professor, please. I d-don't think...I mean, I think I'm - I'm fine."

Snape shook his head, sighing. "Look," he said. "Harry, we all want the best for you. We want you to get better. This will do you good."

"Do I -?"

"Yes," he said. "Yes. You have to."

_I can't go there. Don't make me go. Please don't make me._ He couldn't say it. He folded his arms across his chest. "Fine, then."

Snape frowned, obviously at Harry's reluctance to argue against this. "That's good. I promise you won't regret it." He smiled. "I'll speak to you tomorrow then, Harry." He walked towards the door. "And thanks again, Poppy."

As soon as Snape left the room Harry was left feeling helpless. He didn't want this. He didn't want _that_ kind of help.

Madam Pomfrey turned to Harry, smiling as if nothing were wrong, as if nothing had happened. "Get into bed now, Mr Potter," she said. "There is water on the side table if you need any in the night."

Harry nodded, swinging his legs up onto the bed, trying to ignore the panic eating away at him. "Thank you."

She smiled again. "Someone will be in to check on you every hour or so. Is that all right?"

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you."

"And tomorrow you will be missing at least the first three lessons. You can see whether you feel up to attending the rest of them."

"O-okay," he said, not knowing what else to say to that.

"So," she said, walking back out towards the door, "try to get to sleep, Mr Potter. It'll help."

He felt like laughing. _Sleep? It'll help, will it? Not the kind of sleep I have. _But he laid down anyway, staring up at the ceiling, trying to erase today's events from his mind. The door shut fully behind her and the room was now shroud in complete darkness. He closed his eyes, pulling the blankets - which were almost as itchy as his pyjamas - up around his shoulders.

_I don't want to see a 'mind healer'. I don't _need_ to see a 'mind healer'. There's nothing wrong with me. Nothing._

Despite what he told himself he knew there was definitely something 'wrong'. Even as he lay there, eyes closed, trying to get to sleep, images flashed through his head, images of what he once thought he wanted. Death. His dead body, lying there cold and still on the floor. Blood all around him. Eyes open and unseeing. These were the images that plagued him.

_Stop it. Stop thinking like this. Stop._

The images flashed in his mind again. Blood everywhere. _I want to die. This is what I want. This is what I want. _

He pulled at his hair, trying to pull the thoughts out of his mind.

_Just stop. Stop thinking like this._

He took a deep breath, sitting up and putting his head in his hands, trying to slow both his thoughts and his breathing.

His life was a mess. Everything was ruined. It was like it all had suddenly been set aflame – and there was nothing worth salvaging. His whole life, everything he had built up since starting Hogwarts, was crumbling away like ash in his hands. His friendships were falling apart, slowly but surely, under the weight of his own anxieties and fears. Even Snape had given up on him now; there was nothing he could do anymore. Harry wasn't _Harry_. He felt like someone else entirely, on times. Everything he loved about his old life ceased to bring him happiness.

What was there left? What was left of who he was? The prophecy. That was one thing - maybe the only thing. He had to defeat Voldemort. He doubted he'd be able to, if the time came. Even if he lived long enough, he knew he would never beat anyone – especially Voldemort – in battle. His Defence was good, compared to most of his classmates, but he was still a kid, a student. Nothing special.

_What kind of saviour am I?_ he asked himself. _I'm pathetic. What use would I be in a duel? What use am I against Voldemort? I'm only leading the Wizarding World to its death. I'll only fail them in the end. Better they find out how hopeless I am before it's too late._

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly realising that his hands were shaking again.

_Stop. Stop thinking. Stop worrying. Just stop._

He took a trembling breath.

_Stop it._

His thoughts slowed again. He closed his eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths.

_Why can't I just kill myself, then? It could be so easy. Why do I keep dragging this out? _It was the calmest thought he'd had so far, yet it was the one that scared him the most.

_It could be so easy. Quick. Almost painless. _

He closed his eyes, trying to push away the thoughts, trying to slow his breathing, trying to at least stop shaking.

_You need to sort this out. You need to finish what you started. You can't be a coward - Gryffindors aren't cowardly. You need to do it. Just go up to the Astronomy Tower. Quick. Easy. Painless. It's what you want. It's what you want._

And it _was_ what he wanted sometimes. Just not now. Not now. He was so tired, so tired of it all. These thoughts wore him out more than anything. The thoughts sometimes aligned with his own, and other times were indistinguishable from his own. But they were exhausting. And confusing.

_I don't want to die. Not now, at least._

He closed his eyes again. St. Mungo's would be a waste of time, Harry was sure of it. 'Mind healers' sounded too good to be true, at least the way Harry was thinking of it.

He was just looking forward to seeing Remus again. He could set everything straight. He could finally say sorry - properly this time.

_Just get St. Mungo's out of the way. Then I'll see Remus. Then I can finish this. _

* * *

A/N: I am so sorry for the wait! I hate this chapter so, so much. It is rather short ^_^ but hopefully the next couple of chapters will be a bit more interesting than this :)

Thank you so much for all the reviews/follows/favs so far! I am very grateful!


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